To Iracambi
by PatiH
Summary: What Grissom does when he thinks he's lost his chance with Sara.
1. Chapter 1

A/N: This takes place late in the fourth season or early in the fifth…the team has not been broken up, Sara and Grissom are not together, but Grissom's ears work fine, lol. I wrote this story as a birthday gift for a dear friend, and it's due to her that you are reading it now. Love ya, N!

A/N 2: Oh, and this is NOT a WIP. All chapters are done and will be uploaded, one per day.

Chapter 1

Grissom grinned wildly as the ride ended with a jolt and the screech of air brakes being applied. As the automatic seat restraints lifted, he hoisted himself out of the padded seat and sighed in contentment. Speed, The Ride was his current favorite of Vegas's many roller coaster attractions, in spite of its NASCAR theme. It was unique. Like rocks out of a slingshot, riders were catapulted from the launch area at 35 mph around the first curve and plummeted through a mist-filled tunnel 25-feet below ground. Riders then hurtled to the surface and through a 72-foot loop, accelerated to 70 mph, and sped through the Sahara's marquee to the top of a 224-foot tower. Then, they did it all again - backwards.

It was the reverse course that really made the ride unique…half of the thrill of a roller coaster, after all, is the fear of flying off of the track at 70 miles per hour. That fear is heightened when you can't even see where the coaster is going.

He was coming off of a double in which he had worked himself to near-exhaustion trying to determine if the suspicious drowning death of a toddler was accidental or homicide. The first officer on the scene had called in CSI because, when he arrived, the pool area of the victim's home was locked up securely, and the drowned toddler was laid out by the side of the pool. There was no apparent way for a 2-year-old to enter. After 15 hours of processing and interviewing witnesses, he had determined that an older sibling had carelessly left the gate open. On discovering the body of his baby brother floating in the pool, and trying fruitlessly to resuscitate him, the teen had panicked and locked the pool gate, fearing the consequences should his carelessness be known. It was negligence, not homicide. That didn't stop Grissom from agonizing over his own impotence, however. The coaster ride was necessary to clear his mind and free his soul.

As he straightened and moved into a full body stretch, his stomach brought itself to his attention: It was clinging to his backbone and complaining bitterly. Though he was mind-numb with exhaustion, he didn't feel up to shopping and cooking this morning, and his larder was pretty bare at the moment, the victim of weeks of overtime. Fortunately, the Sahara featured the House of Lords, a historic Vegas steakhouse, which he patronized on occasion, so he drew together the dregs of his energy and shuffled off to find dinner.

Too drained to wait for a full dinner service, Grissom ordered the calamari appetizer and a house beer, promising his stomach something healthier and more substantial later. As he settled into the plush, intimate booth, he surveyed his surroundings. The subtle music of the many fountains scattered through the restaurant soothed him, as did the soft crooning of Frank Sinatra emanating from hidden speakers. One of the many things he enjoyed about this restaurant was the illusion of total privacy: the high, padded booths sheltered him from other eyes. He always requested a corner booth: there, he could observe others enjoying their meals while being nearly invisible himself, screened by the falling water of a fountain on one side, the luxurious leaves of a faux palm on the other, and the high back of the booth to his rear.

Today, relaxing in his favorite booth, he let his mind wander. Eventually, he settled into his habitual occupation when out alone: people watching. Two booths over sat an elderly man and a teenage boy: grandfather and grandson, perhaps? The boy was speaking animatedly while the man watched indulgently. It struck Grissom suddenly, with a pang of sadness, that, if he were to father a child at this moment in his life, he would look like a grandfather to his own child. Children were something he'd always vaguely hoped for someday. Now, it seemed, all his chances had slipped away.

As many paths of thought often did, thoughts of having a child of his own led inevitably to thoughts of Sara: the only woman he'd thought of in the light of a potential mate in years. She'd been happier, lately, he'd noticed. He was pleased to see her smile more, but he was afraid to speculate at the cause of her contentment. If he were a truly unselfish man, he knew he'd wish for her to have found someone to care for, but…he could never be completely selfless when it came to Sara. He wanted her, and in his most honest moments, he might even admit that he loved her, but he was trapped in a stasis of his own making. Whether the cause was the age difference between them, his position as her superior, or simply his own fear, he'd pushed his feelings away for so long that he no longer had any idea of how to act upon them.

Discontented with the path his thoughts were taking him on, he wrenched his gaze away from the old man and his possible young relative, and scanned the other nearby tables for something to distract him from his unproductive line of thought. Sometimes, when eating solitary meals out, he liked to entertain himself á la Sherlock Holmes; he'd scrutinize some random person and challenge himself to learn as much about that person as possible simply from his clothing, general appearance and mannerisms. He decided that his occasional game was just the diversion he needed. Considering and rejecting several restaurant patrons as not enough of a challenge, he settled on a young man two rows over who reminded him of Nick.

Sporting a very short, masculine haircut, it was the young man's brown hair that made him think of Nick. Forcing himself to be meticulous, he started with the young man's shoes. They were leather, and somewhat dressy, but not, in Grissom's opinion, expensive. He came to the same conclusion about the young man's black slacks and olive green shirt, which was striped in some faint pattern of criss-crossing lines. So, the quality of his clothing showed him to be of moderate means, while the crisply ironed lines of pants and shirt suggested either a fastidious nature or perhaps a romantic partner who cared about how his clothes looked on him. The hand Grissom could see was sun-browned, as was the right ear (the only part of the man's face visible at the moment). This told Grissom that his subject either worked, or played in the sun, and the muscles outlined beneath his shirt and the calluses on his hand suggested that he either participated in athletic activities or had a hands-on job. Or both.

Unless the young man turned his head, Grissom had reached the end of what he could tell from the man's overall appearance. Now, he decided to let the man's choice of companions tell him more. Across the table from his subject, he could see an older man and woman. Their clothing and bearing suggested a slightly higher income level then the young man in the green shirt. They were relaxed and appeared happy, so probably were not work colleagues or casual acquaintances. At one point while he idly observed, the woman reached out and covered the young man's hand with her own, an affectionate smile crossing her lips. The two older folks were obviously together, as evidenced by the way the woman snuggled into the older man's shoulder. This information, coupled with the woman's age and the similarity of her coloring to that of his subject, led Grissom to believe that she was an older relative, perhaps a mother or aunt.

Now, he turned his attention to the young woman seated with his subject. Like his Nick look-alike, this young woman immediately brought someone to mind: Sara. Her loose brown curls and long, pale, graceful hand evoked Sara's image in his mind immediately. He frowned. This was unfortunate, since he was using this exercise to banish her from his thoughts in the first place. Still, he shrugged mentally, he'd already devoted several minutes to this study; he might as well be thorough. Unlike her male companion, she was seated to the interior of the booth, so his only view of her was of her shoulders, the back of her head and her hand, when she used it to gesture as she spoke. Devoting his considerable powers of observation to this new challenge, he decided first that, given the level of her head when compared with her companion, she would be tall for a woman. She was slim, and fine-boned. Her posture was relaxed, so she was comfortable with her companions, and the gentle shaking of her shoulders from time to time, when she laughed, indicated that she was having a good time.

Grissom had learned all he could from the appearance and companions of his young subject, so he relaxed and resigned himself to watching more idly in case the actions of the people he had scrutinized told him anything new. The waiter had deposited his beer and calamari in front of him unobtrusively while he was otherwise occupied, so he sipped his drink and nibbled at his snack while he observed. His first new piece of intelligence came when the young man threw his head back in laughter, and then wrapped an affectionate arm around the shoulders of the young woman. His teeth were strong, straight and white, and the angularity of his jaw and shape of his eyes, briefly visible in his laughter made Grissom sit up in wonder…the young man wasn't just a Nick look-alike, he was a Nick clone! Another hearty laugh from his subject confirmed his suspicions and Grissom relaxed, laughing at himself. It WAS Nick. Of all the people to observe, he'd unwittingly chosen his own young friend and protégée!

Shaking his head and reflecting on the oddness of this coincidence, Grissom decided to discontinue his study. It felt wrong to examine someone he knew…voyeurism instead of casual observation. Still, his eyes were drawn, time and again, to the young women enclosed in Nick's arm. If the young man was Nick, it was conceivable that the young woman actually was Sara; he hadn't known that Nick and Sara hung out together outside of work, but the thought was unsurprising; the two younger CSIs had a lot in common, and worked together harmoniously when paired. It made sense that they were friends as well as co-workers. Grissom's lips turned up in an unhappy smirk as he contemplated the fact that he had conceded any right to know who Sara socialized with when he had stopped acting like her friend.

He sighed, more despondent now than he had been before. He generally avoided confronting his feelings for Sara, and hardly ever revisited the mistakes he'd made in his dealings with her. Today, though, his earlier anguish over his case had predisposed him to melancholy. That, coupled with this unlooked for encounter pushed him over the edge into outright dejection. Like a tongue continually probing a sore tooth, he forced himself to continue watching Nick's table. Seeing Nick's arm around Sara wasn't particularly bothersome, since he knew his young friend was outgoing and affectionate with all of his friends. So, when Nick drew the young woman close and planted a serious kiss on her laughing mouth, he froze in bewilderment. His brain rejected what he'd seen: Sara and Nick, involved? In a relationship? It couldn't be! Desperately seeking any other explanation, he managed to convince himself that the girl two rows over was NOT in fact Sara, but a girl bearing a slight resemblance. Still, doubt gnawed at him with painfully sharp teeth.

Once he'd signed the credit slip delivered to him by the nearly-silent waiter, he resolved to prove to himself that Sara, his Sara, was not seated in that booth cuddling with his young employee. Stealthily, he traversed the restaurant until he could observe Nick's booth from the opposite vantage point. Now, the older couple was only visible from behind, and Nick (because it was definitely Nick, seen from this angle) was wrapped around…Sara Sidle. Even as he looked on in stunned disbelief, Nick leaned over and whispered something in Sara's ear, following his aside with a kiss to the soft skin next to her ear. Sara only smiled in response, though the color in her cheeks rose becomingly.

Thankful that he'd kept another booth between himself and the Stokes table, and therefore kept himself from being observed, Grissom hurried from the restaurant as fast as his bow-legged gait could take him. His brain was spinning from what he'd just learned and he could feel the start of a familiar throbbing in his temples.


	2. Chapter 2

A/N: Thank you for your kind reviews. And, as always, I want to give a shout-out to my friend Heart'sandEye'sDelight, without whom this story would never have happened. I believe that this chapter explains what you all found disturbing in the first, ;). To be completely clear, this is NOT an N/S story (yuck, no offence to Snickers shippers, but Nick and Sara together feels like incest to me ). This story is most definitely GSR.

Disclaimer: oops, I forgot this on chapter 1. Is it really necessary for me to say that I have no ownership of CSI or the Sahara Casino or any other thing in this fictional world that has any financial value? I'm a middle school teacher, not a multi-millionaire.

Chapter 2

One Week Earlier

"Sara! Sara! You must help me! I throw myself on your mercy!" Nick flung himself to his knees beside her seat on the breakroom couch and held his hand to his forehead in a pose made infamous by 19th century melodramas.

"What the…" she expostulated, startled and amused by Nick's posturing. "Nick, you're an idiot. What the hell are you doing?" Nick wrapped his arms around her knees in supplication, and she would have worried about his bizarre behavior were it not for the roguish twinkle in her friend's eyes, indicating that he was amused by his own actions.

"You have to help me Sara!" he reiterated mock-mournfully.

"Maybe I would if you'd get off the ground and acted like a normal human being," she remonstrated cheerfully. When Nick sighed dramatically, rose, and folded himself onto the couch cushion next to her, she continued, "So, what is it, exactly, that I'm helping you with?"

Nick perked up at this. "So you will help, then?"

Shaking her head at his persistence, Sara laughed. "I'll decide that once I hear about the situation."

"Well," and at this Nick leered suggestively, "I need a woman."

"Oh, you can forget that!" Sara exclaimed, walloping him on the head with a couch pillow for his effrontery.

"No, wait, hear me out Sar-…" he started, only to dodge another upholstered missile. "Saaar-a!" He whined, "I really, truly do have a favor to ask you!"

Eying him warily, she lowered her next overstuffed projectile. "This had better be good, Nick!'

Returning to a serious mien, Nick rubbed the back of his neck in some embarrassment. "Well, the truth is, my Aunt Bea is coming to town…"

"Aunt B?" Sara asked, in some confusion.

"Bea, short for Beatrice." Nick supplied, "I know, it's a name you don't really hear anymore. But, the problem is, she's coming to town…and she's…you could call her the family busybody, you know? I love her dearly, but…she never lets me forget that I'm the last member of the Stokes clan who is unmarried and childless. _And…."_ He emphasized, "She is ALWAYS trying to set me up with someone!"

"She can't be too successful at that if you live in Las Vegas and she lives in another state," Sara pointed out logically.

"You don't know Aunt Bea," Nick sighed mournfully, "she has connections everywhere! She's a very sociable lady, and her husband used to coach a minor league baseball team, and she traveled all over the U.S. with Uncle Chip and his team. I swear she made friends in every city of even moderate size from Tallahassee to Seattle, and she keeps in touch with ALL of them!"

Amused by the exasperated affection apparent in Nick's depiction of his aunt, Sara shook with silent laughter. Nick hid his own grin, complaining, "Some friend you are, Sara! Laughing at my pain!" At this, Sara couldn't hold in her giggles, and Nick gave in, chuckling along with her.

Wiping a tear from the corner of her eye, and attempting to compose herself, Sara asked again, "So, what, exactly, could I help you with here?"

Nick sighed. "Well, my Aunt is gonna be in town for a week, and she told me that she wants to meet for dinner one night…I know she plans to show up with a prospective 'date' for me, probably a daughter of an old friend, or something along those lines…"

"So?" Sara interrupted, "Why not call and cancel at the last minute? Tell her you got called into work."

Nick shook his head dolefully. "Won't work!" he groaned. "She specifically told me that she WOULD see me this week, even if she had to find me on a lunch break, and if I try to tell her I didn't get a lunch break, she'll call OSHA and report CSI for unlawful labor practices! They don't get much more determined than my Aunt Bea. Besides," Nick admitted ruefully, "I do want to see her".

"OK, I can see that, Nicky. How could I possible help out here?" Sara asked.

"Well… it occurred to me that I could call Aunt Bea and ask her if I could bring my girlfriend to dinner with us, and that might cut her matchmaking plans off at the pass, if you know what I mean…" Nick hinted slyly.

Her brow crinkled in puzzlement, Sara asked, "but Nick, you don't have a…" Nick winked at her. "OH! Oh, hell no! Nick, what the hell?" Sara sputtered.

"It's just dinner!" He pleaded.

"Why me?" Sara asked warily.

"See, that's where I'm a genius!" Nick boasted, "if you're my girlfriend, and they ask me to bring you home to visit, I've got a built-in excuse: our boss will never give us vacation at the same time. Look, just pretend to be my girlfriend for one hour Sar, and I swear I'll do anything!"

Seeing an advantage to be had here, Sara's demeanor shifted. "Anything?" she purred.

Sensing a trap, Nick attempted to backpedal, "I mean…anything of equivalent value…I'm not doing your next ten decomps!"

Sara chuckled, "Nothing like that, Nick. I just need someone to drive me to San Francisco this weekend…an old friend of mine has a car for sale that I want to look at, and if I buy it, I'll be driving it home, so I need someone to get me there. I could fly…but, since you need a favor…" she trailed off with a significant look.

Wincing slightly at the thought of losing a full weekend day to the drive, Nick thought about Sara's offer for a full ten seconds before giving in…after all, a week free from his Aunt's matchmaking would be worth the sixteen hours of driving. Besides, Sara was his friend…if she'd asked him the favor, he'd probably have said yes anyways. "Done!" he announced, grabbing her hand and pumping it up and down vigorously. "Thanks, Sara. You're a pal! Let me know what time to pick you up Saturday, and I'll be there with bells on! I'll let you know what day I arrange to meet my Aunt, OK?" At that, he bounded off the couch and strode off down the corridor, whistling merrily.

Sara watched him leave with smiling eyes for a few moments before letting her head fall back against the couch. "Yeah, I'm a pal, alright," she mumbled, "everybody's pal and nobody's girlfriend, that's me." She gave in to melancholy for a moment, before visibly shaking off the dark mood and rising from the couch to return to work.


	3. Chapter 3

A/N: Thank you for your reviews . Also, I want to thank my dear friend Heart'sandEye'sDelight, for promoting this story in hers…if you haven't read her stories, you need to go there, now. Seriously, she is amazing.

Disclaimer: Not mine. Duh.

Chapter 3

'That was more fun than I expected,' Sara reflected, as she strolled through the small indoor mall housed within the Sahara casino. Nick had offered her a ride home, since he'd driven them both there in his truck, but she told him she wanted to play tourist for a while, and that she'd catch a cab back to the CSI building later. Sightseeing wasn't her goal, however. After their meal with Nick's Aunt and Uncle, she wanted to be alone for a while, to analyze her reaction to the whole experience.

Aunt Bea and Uncle Chip were, she acknowledged, charming. They'd spent half their lives traveling and had built up a collection of stories sufficient to match the 1001 tales Sheherazade told. On top of that, they were down to earth and friendly. Laughing softly to herself, Sara remembered her trepidation prior to meeting Nick's relatives; she'd fully expect to be grilled on her history and vetted as to her suitability to be potential member of the highly respected Stokes clan. She'd lain awake all morning, staring blankly at the insides of her eyelids for hours before she gave up and climbed out of bed to look for something to occupy her time until dinner.

She shook her head in amusement at her own unwarranted apprehensions. Aunt Bea had welcomed her like an old friend, and put her at ease at once with her amusing prattle about the phoniness that was Las Vegas, compared to her native Dallas. She'd compared Vegas to an aged actress who'd kept her face and body beautiful, firm and tight through numerous artificial means, compared to a Dallas, which was like a tough, no-nonsense old lady who was still strong and vigorous. The faces she made while describing this, as well as her extravagant gestures and manner of speaking had Sara laughing helplessly from the moment she and Nick arrived.

Uncle Chip, though more silent and stoic than his wife, made his own contributions to dinner felt. Though he spoke seldom, his comments were always well timed, and frequently hilarious. Sara smiled again at the pleasant recollection. No, she'd had a whole lot more fun than she ever would have expected.

Still, the whole experience had left her melancholy, with a strong need to be alone. She wanted to puzzle out her odd reactions to what had, to any outside observer, seemed a memorable and enjoyable interlude. After wandering the Arabian themed corridors for several minutes, she paused, her attention caught by some people in line for a Mediterranean-style restaurant. It was a family; a plump mother wearing a loose dress in dark blue with tiny white flowers, two interchangeably cute children, whose gender was indeterminate in brightly colored rompers, and a stout father wearing a loud orange Hawaiian shirt patterned with white flowers, black shorts and sandals.

It wasn't their obvious status as tourists that caught her eye, though; it was something else. The children were bouncy and loud, and the mother was scolding them for their behavior, while the father corralled them by grabbing the straps on the back of their rompers. She might have expected boorish behavior from a man of his looks, but instead, his voice was soft and gentle as he admonished his offspring, and he followed his corrections with a fond hug and smacking kiss for each child. The toddlers calmed and placidly clung to their mother's hands, thereafter. The mother, in her turn, gazed upon her husband with a look that caused Sara's heart to clench. Her own mother and father had never looked at each other with such affection, even before things got truly bad in her house.

Feeling her melancholy rise up as if to drown her, she realized the source of her unhappiness; watching Aunt Bea and Uncle Chip interact today had shown her what a truly _good_ relationship could be. It was obvious that Aunt Bea adored Uncle Chip, and in spite of their 25 years of marriage, it was clear that Uncle Chip still worshipped the ground his wife walked on. Their interactions with each other, while not cloyingly sweet, had still communicated their deep love for one another. And, watching them reminded Sara of everything she did not have, everything she had never had. No man had ever looked at her like she was an angel sent down to bless him, and she'd never felt such obvious security in herself in her relationships that she knew she could say or do anything and the man would still love her.

No, love, in her life, had always been conditional. Her parents had sometimes made much of her when she'd brought home excellent grades and awards, but treated her like an unwanted and reviled burden at other times, especially when they were boozed up and coked up. Her few boyfriends had declared their fervent love for her until they got in her pants, and then they'd shown how little they valued her by their utter disrespect and infidelity. No, Sara Sidle had never been loved unreservedly; she'd often wondered if she was simply unworthy of real love, if others perceived a hidden stain or flaw in her make-up that made them unable to value her for anything other than what they could get from her.

She looked up to find that her straying feet had brought her to a small, intimate jewelry shop tucked in between a pretzel shop and a store filled with faux middle-eastern knick-knacks. The rings, earrings and necklaces in the window were unusual, gold and platinum metal in a strangely sinuous design, interspersed with brilliant diamonds, topaz and emeralds, almost at random. One ring, in particular, caught her eye. It was a round solitaire diamond slightly raised above a simple band of twisted white and yellow gold. It mesmerized her, to the point where she at first missed the introduction of a smiling saleswoman.

Jerked from her introspection by the woman's long, manicured fingernails lightly touching her bare forearm, she realized that she'd probably been enthralled by the ring for several minutes. "I'm sorry," she groaned, "I didn't mean to block your display".

"Oh, no trouble at all, my dear," the perfectly coiffed blond woman patted her arm kindly. "It is a lovely piece isn't it?" At Sara's befuddled look, the woman reached into the display and pulled out the ring Sara'd been ogling moments before. "Are you in a relationship, dear?" she queried, even as she smoothly took possession of Sara's left hand and slid the bauble onto her third finger.

"N-n-no," Sara stuttered, as she stared mesmerized by the perfection of the ring on her hand.

"That's a shame, a beautiful girl like you," the saleswoman cooed. "Still, though this ring was designed to be an engagement ring, it would look equally lovely on another finger" and with that she effortlessly transferred the ring to Sara's right hand. Then, she turned Sara's long, slender hand in her own tiny, perfectly manicured appendage so that the diamond fractured the light into a thousand tiny rainbows.

Even as the saleswoman manipulated Sara's arm as if it belonged to her, Sara stared down at the ring, at war with herself. There was absolutely no reason for her to buy an engagement ring for herself, and there was nowhere for her to even wear it, and yet…the gleam of gold and sparkle of diamond seemed to shout 'look at me, I belong to someone! Somebody loves and wants me!' Even if the ring's advertisements were wholly false, she still felt the desire to have others look on her and believe what the ring proclaimed. It was foolish and ridiculous for her to buy an engagement ring when she wasn't even in a relationship…but, she could afford it, and after all, what else was there to spend her money on?

A few minutes later, she exited the shop in a daze, with a thousand dollars worth of diamonds and gold encircling the third finger of her left hand where she'd impulsively placed it after completing her purchase. She made her way to the hotel entrance, hailed a cab and directed it to CSI without ever raising her eyes from the dazzle and flash on her finger.


	4. Chapter 4

A/N: Thank you for your reviews…it's especially heartening to see some of you reviewing multiple chapters, that is really above and beyond! My friend N is out of town this weekend, but you all are cheering me up!

Disclaimer: As if.

Chapter 4

A muffled crash and a stream of curses outside his office door woke Grissom with a start.

His head jerked up to search for the source of the noise, but he quickly regretted the sudden movement as his neck and shoulders screamed at him for sleeping in such an awkward position. Wincing, he slowly dragged himself upright and rubbed his neck, trying to clear his muddled thoughts. Sleeping on the couch in his office wasn't all that unusual for him, especially when he was waiting on lab results or there was little time between one shift and the next, but usually he woke up and had no trouble remembering why he was there. That wasn't the case for him today; in fact, today was the start of a two day 'weekend' for him, so he should have been waking up in his own bed. Running his hands over his forehead and through his curls, he searched his memory, trying to figure out why he was here.

Suddenly, he sat up. "Sara!" Her name trembled on his lips. Could it be true? Was Sara really dating Nick? He felt, once again, the sick clenching in his stomach, familiar from a day three years ago, when a former mentor-turned-antagonist informed him of Sara's relationship with that paramedic. Swiftly, memories of the evening returned. He remembered coming straight here after his disastrous dinner outing, knowing he couldn't sleep. He'd intended to work, the scattered papers and folders on the floor next to the couch were evidence enough of that, but he must have fallen asleep half-sitting up, his mental turmoil giving way to exhaustion.

Now that he was replaying what he'd seen tonight, despair enveloped him. He felt like he'd lost her all over again, though his rational brain tried to remind him that he'd never exactly had her in the first place. And, this time was worse than before; Nick was smarter, kinder and, though he was no real judge of male beauty, probably handsomer than Sara's former paramour. Nick wouldn't screw up the relationship by cheating on her, and Nick most definitely wouldn't date Sara if he were already seeing someone else.

Really, Nick was perfect for her. He was gentle and warm, athletic and funny, and did the same job Sara did, so would understand when she couldn't go out with him or when she got called into work. He could never be abusive, like her parents, and could provide her with a ready-made family, in the huge Stokes clan. He was the same age as her, and could give her all the things she likely wanted, like marriage, a home, children. Things Grissom couldn't offer her. Grissom buried his face in his hands as he tortured himself with these thoughts.

'It doesn't matter whether Nick is better for her' he admitted to himself, 'I need her'. He couldn't imagine a life without Sara in it, and he refused to imagine a life where Sara belonged in the arms of another man. Never mind the fact that he'd had several chances to be the man in Sara's life; he knew now that he desperately needed another chance. But, he would not, could not interfere in Nick and Sara's relationship; Nick was like a son to him, and no matter how much he loved and wanted Sara, he could not knowingly hurt his younger friend. Groaning, he flung himself back against the sofa cushions, unable to find a way out of his dilemma.

He needed Sara to give him another chance, he needed to let her know how much he cared for her, but he could not in all conscience cause pain to Nick in order to obtain his own selfish desires.

The agonizing thoughts that circled his brain began to manifest in physical symptoms…he could feel the tingling in his limbs and see the bright spots in front of his eyes that generally let him know that one of his migraines was on its way. Rising slowly, so as not to aggravate his already-throbbing head, he made his way to his desk, where he fumbled with the drawer where he stored his medication. On finding only an empty pill bottle, he put a hand to his head and wracked his troubled brain. Finally, he remembered that he'd left the replacement bottle in his locker before the last shift; he'd been on his way to PD to question the parents of his drowning victim, and didn't have time to stop by his office. With an aggrieved sigh, he grabbed his sunglasses off his desk, needing to block the bright lights of the corridor as much as possible, and headed for the locker room.

He threw back two pills and dry-swallowed them, and then returned the bottle to his locker. About to return to his office to try to sleep off his remaining symptoms, he froze in place when he heard someone else enter the locker room. He really didn't want to run into anyone; he felt ill enough that the thought of enduring a friendly greeting from a colleague made him wince, and, should the colleague be one of his own crew, he'd also have to come up with a reason for being in the office on his day off. He decided to avoid the situation entirely by sliding around the corner to wait for the interloper to leave.

He heard the usual clankings and rustlings of a person using their locker, but then nothing; silence. There was no slam of a locker door, and no echo of departing footsteps. After more than a minute of continuous silence, his curiosity could no longer be contained, and he inched forward to peer around the corner. To his dismay, he glimpsed Sara sitting on the bench in front of her locker before he pulled back swiftly. Grissom grimaced. Of course it was Sara…probably the last person he wanted to see right now. Resting his aching forehead softly against the metal of the locker sides, he prayed that she would finish whatever she was doing and depart quickly.

Several minutes came and went, and Sara remained, sitting quietly and doing nothing, as far as he could tell. Finally, in exasperation, he risked peering around the corner again, determined to find out what she was doing there. As he watched, she sat quietly, seemingly enthralled by something in her hands, which rested in her lap. Her expression was dazed, and her posture was relaxed. He sighed and inched forward a bit more, trying to crane his neck to see what she was looking at so intently.

Finally, his eyes caught a glimmer from her lap, and suddenly his attention was riveted upon the third finger of her left hand. Was that….no, it couldn't be, could it? He'd just found out today that Sara was in a relationship…she couldn't be engaged already, could she? But yes…the more he stared, desperate for his perception to be contradicted, the more obvious it became that Sara was wearing an engagement ring. Suddenly, the sick, twisting feeling in his stomach was gone…in fact, all feeling anywhere in his body was gone. He felt numb, from head to toe. As if from far away, a voice in his mind mocked him with familiar words: "too late…too late…too late". He looked one more time, irrationally hoping that he'd mistaken what he'd seen, but the ring remained; now Sara was hunched over peering closely at the ring, with a soft, secret smile on her face.

In the numbness that followed this confirmation of his greatest fear, he came to one realization; his job, the job he'd given up everything for, including his chance to love Sara would be intolerable without her. He closed his eyes in sorrow for opportunities lost, and swiftly came to a decision. He knew he couldn't bear continuing to work here, day after day, watching Sara and Nick's joy. He didn't begrudge them their happiness, and he knew that with distance and time, he'd eventually be able to be happy for them, but he knew he wasn't strong enough to watch them right now, with his loss so raw. Years ago, he'd hinted to Warrick that when he finally left CSI, it would be in silence, without farewells. He decided that now was the time to make those words into reality.

The lack of feeling in his heart and body apparently extended to his head, because he no longer felt any symptoms from his migraine. He was grimly pleased by that; he had many things to do, and only two days in which to do them.


	5. Chapter 5

Disclaimer: Should this go first, or the author's note?

A/N: Thanks and lots of love go to all my reviewers, and to my dear friend Heart'sandEye'sDelight.

Chapter 5

Two days later, Sara lounged on the break room couch, waiting for the rest of the night shift to arrive. She whiled away the time sipping hot herbal tea and paging idly through an old forensics journal, though it was an issue she'd already read cover to cover. Finally, she sighed and tossed the magazine onto the table in front of her. She didn't like having nothing to do, but she'd closed all of her cases and finished all her paperwork; the two days of Grissom's weekend had been uncommonly quiet. She wondered where he could be tonight: he was almost always at least as early to arrive at work as she was.

The impatient drumming of her fingers on the arm of the couch drew her eyes to her own hand, today free of jewelry, and she smiled wistfully. She was still at a loss to explain her insane urge to buy herself an engagement ring two days ago, but it had looked so perfect on her hand. She must have spent ten minutes admiring her hand in the locker room that night. At one point, she'd lost herself for a while in a self-indulgent fantasy; she'd imagined Gil Grissom, down on one knee, begging for her hand in marriage. Though she was not even sure if she ever wanted to get married, the mental image had been so compelling that she was grateful that the locker room had been empty at that time of night. She must have looked like a grinning fool. She'd finally stored the ring in her locker and gotten to work, and she'd never put it on again since then.

One by one, her night shift colleagues began to drift in: first Nick strolled in whistling with his hands shoved deep in his pockets, then Warrick slouched in. Both acknowledged her with nods and smiles before collapsing into the two of the chairs around the break room table. With a friendly grin, she shifted over to a chair between the two 'boys' and spoke: "Hey guys."

"Hey Sar" and "How's it goin' Sara" returned from either side of her.

Sara's lips curled into a grin as she teased both men, "How are the ladies of Las Vegas going to survive the night with you two stallions forced to work tonight?"

"Well, you know how it is, Sar," Nick drawled, "we've gotta give the little darlings a rest now and then!"

"Yeah," chuckled Warrick, "'Cause you know, when we have time off, we make sure those girls are completely worn out!"

While their messing around distracted Sara, Greg slid into the seat directly across from her, greeting her with a wide grin and "How's the loveliest lady of the night shift?" Sara rolled her eyes at Greg's comment, and then grinned, noting that Greg had just inserted his foot in his mouth, as Catherine walked up behind him, having clearly overheard his statement.

"Hello, Greg," Catherine purred, and Greg froze in sheer terror. "Would you like to repeat what you just said?"

"Loveliest ladies! I meant "Ladies!" Greg squealed, as Catherine slowly and steadily twisted his ear. Catherine paused as if considering, and finally relented and released Greg's ear, sliding into the seat next to him with a sigh.

"I'll be glad to turn the reins over to Grissom tonight," she admitted. "I swear Gil arranges for the majority of the paperwork to be due on the nights he's scheduled off."

Sara hid her grin behind her hand, suspecting that Catherine's statement was very close to the truth; Grissom despised paperwork.

At that moment, an entirely unexpected voice broke the pleasant mood among the CSIs. Conrad Ecklie poked his skeletal head into the room, and peered around with a seriously irritated visage. "Catherine!" He exclaimed, "My office! Now!" His head disappeared, presumably to join the rest of his body, leaving the CSIs to stare after him in bewilderment.

"I wander what put his panties in a bunch?" Greg whispered, as if speaking aloud would bring Ecklie storming back.

"I'll tell you one thing," Catherine grumbled, "Given that shift started five minutes ago and our fearless leader is nowhere in sight, I'm sure that somehow Gil is behind Ecklie's temper." The rest of the crew glanced around ruefully, plainly in agreement. Gil Grissom may have been a genius at forensics, but he had very little aptitude for workplace politics. Catherine rose from her seat with a sigh and strode off to beard the balding lion in his den.

Twenty minutes later, the four CSIs were nearly ready to send out a search party for either their missing leader or for his second in command. As soon as Catherine left the room, Sara had tried both Grissom's cell phone and his home phone, hoping to get a heads-up on what Ecklie was so upset about, but the cell phone went straight to voicemail and his home phone number gave her a disconnected message. Sara was pacing the room like an anxious panther in too small a cage, while the boys talked in soft, strained voices in the corner by the coffee maker. At last, Catherine appeared in the doorway, staring in at them all.

One by one, like dominoes falling down sequentially, their conversations ceased as they turned to look at her. Something in her expression held them motionless and silent, as if watching a disaster unfold in slow motion. Sara, who'd been watching the doorway and had seen her first, tried to place her expression. Catherine looked simultaneously devastated, enraged and frightened, and Sara grew frightened herself watching her pale, still features. Finally, Catherine broke the silence.

"I'm in charge tonight, everyone." She said firmly, though her expression still blended fear and anger. "Nick, you have a purported suicide in Henderson, Warrick, I'd like you to supervise Greg's work on a B&E on the strip, and Sara, you're done with the Jackson case, right?" At Sara's nod of acquiescence, Catherine nodded briskly and said, "Good. Then you're with me."

"Uh…Cath? What about Grissom?" Nick queried anxiously.

"I'll be looking into that and I'd like you all here for a brief meeting after shift. I'll let you know then what I've learned." Cath said mysteriously. Despite the boys' confused expressions and half-hearted protests, Cath shooed them out the door, and then turned to face Sara's worried face. Seeing her obvious fear, Cath softened, "Sara, though it's bad enough, it's not as bad as you're thinking. Gil's alive and well, to the best of my knowledge."

"Go on." Sara demanded. "The boys let you get away with that back there, but I'm not moving one step out of this room until you tell me where Grissom is."

"That's why you're with me," Catherine smirked, "you won't give up until you get at the truth. And, the truth is, I don't know where Gil is; but, right now, you and I are going to find out. I've given out all of the cases to the boys; it's another slow night. You and I are on the case of the missing criminalist!" With a slight grin, she spun on her heel and strode off, leaving a bewildered Sara to follow.

Sara's stunned silence lasted until they'd been on the road for ten minutes. Finally, tired of absently trying to categorize her colleague's expressions, she spoke: "So, you gonna fill me in here? What did Ecklie tell you?"

Cath sighed. "Somehow, Gil always knows exactly what will piss Ecklie off the absolute most. Still, this time I can hardly blame Conrad for his reaction; Gil's left him in a real bind."

"What do you mean?" Sara wondered.

"Apparently, at 4 p.m. today, right at the end of Ecklie's shift, Gil faxed in his letter of resignation, effective immediately"

Sara gasped, "What! Why?"

Cath grinned, slightly, somehow perversely proud of her former supervisor's talent for pissing off the sour assistant director, "That's what Ecklie's been trying to find out all night. He didn't know about the fax until an hour after he got home, and he's been trying to get in touch with Gil ever since. He had to come into the office again to get Gil's home phone since all the Human Resources staff had gone home, and Gil's cell was going straight to voicemail. And, when he did call, from the lab, he found out that Gil's home phone was disconnected. He was so furious he was practically foaming at the mouth," Cath laughed.

"I knew that…about the phones," Sara admitted, "I tried calling him on both lines after Ecklie called you to his office."

"Well, it gets worse," Catherine's expression became grim. "After Ecklie told me that I was in charge tonight and that I was to use any means necessary to convince Grissom to return, I went to his office to investigate. His cell phone, gun and badge were there on his desk, but the rest of the office was…"

"The rest of his office was…what, Cath?"

"Cleaned out…nothing of Grissom's was there at all. How he managed that in two days with no one noticing, I have no idea." Catherine shuddered, and continued, in a voice that hinted of tears, "It was awful Sara…I mean, Gil's office was creepy, but…it was him, you know? Seeing it like that was liking seeing Grissom dead and gone, for some reason."

Sara shuddered herself at Catherine's description. Superstitiously, she crossed her fingers, praying that Catherine's words would not prove prophetic. Why would Grissom quit? His job was everything to him. Why would he leave without a word? As she pondered this, Catherine turned into Grissom's neighborhood.

Both women watched intently as Grissom's townhouse came into view. At first, nothing seemed out of the ordinary; the low maintenance cactus garden surrounded by rounded river rocks was unchanged, as was the exterior of the building. One change stood out however; a "for sale" realtor sign posted next to the driveway. Sara and Catherine exchanged worried looks, before Catherine eased the SUV into Grissom's empty parking space, and both women slid out of the car.

Walking over to the realtor sign, Sara scanned the proffered literature, searching for any clue as to Grissom's whereabouts, but there was nothing—only the phone number of a management agency, along with pictures and descriptions of the townhouse's features. Catherine approached the door warily, concerned that the management company might have replaced Grissom's locks. But, no, his lock was unchanged. With some relief, she separated Grissom's house key from the rest of her house, car and work keys and inserted it into the lock.

Before turning the key, Catherine looked up into Sara's accusing gaze. "Sara," she groaned, "Gil and I exchanged keys years ago in case one of us ever got locked out of our homes. I've never used it before, OK?" Sara relented and focused her attention on the lock as if it held all the answers she was looking for. With a grunt, Catherine jiggled the sticky lock and shoved the door open, to reveal…

Nothing. The townhouse was completely empty, bare of character. Catherine and Sara looked at each other, speechless, both thinking the same thing: what did this mean?


	6. Chapter 6

Disclaimer: Not mine, never will be, too bad, so sad.

A/N: As always, thank you so much for your comments, and a special thanks to Heart'sandEye'sDelight, without whom many of you might not have found this story!

To address a few questions I've gotten, this will be GSR, there will be a happy ending, there is 15 chapters plus an epilogue, and (nobody asked this, but I'm sure some of you were wondering, lol), as the "M" rating indicates, there will eventually be some serious smut.

Chapter 6

"So, he's pulled a Houdini on us?" Greg questioned, around a mouthful of greasy scrambled eggs.

"Yeah, 'poof'," Catherine said grimly. She stabbed her melon cubes viciously, as if they had personally offended her.

"What are we gonna do?" Nick wondered, anxiously, "Something's gotta be wrong, why else would he be so secretive? I mean…he didn't even leave a note?"

"If he did, we haven't found it," Sara sighed. She'd ordered only coffee, knowing that she'd be unable to face food until the tight knot in her gut unraveled.

"This is not good, man, Griss could be in trouble. Maybe he's got some incurable disease…it'd be like him to want to spare us…" Nick's steak and eggs platter was virtually untouched.

"If I'm paying for that food, Nick, you'd damn well better start eating it!" Catherine scolded, and Nick, flinching like a boy caught in some misdeed, started busily sawing at his t-bone, cutting the meat into neat little cubes, all the while hoping Catherine would be distracted by someone else. He was too upset to eat right now, but ever since Catherine had texted all of them, requesting that they meet her and Sara at the diner right after shift, her treat, she had refused to tell them anything until they'd received their orders and started their meals.

Learning from Nick's mistake, Warrick swiftly took a bite of his omelet, chewed and swallowed before speaking, "Now wait a minute guys. Should we be doing this? If I'm understanding you correctly, you plan on hunting him down. Have you stopped to think that disappearing is exactly how he wanted to go?"

"Who wants that? Seriously?" Greg demanded.

"Grissom did," Warrick announced solemnly, "he told me so once…said something like when he was gone, he'd just be gone, no good-byes, and it looks like he's done exactly that. What right do we have to interfere?"

"We have the right of people who care about him" Sara's eyes were haunted, but her voice was strong and clear. "Whether he wanted to disappear or not, something had to trigger this. He wasn't suffering from burnout, as far as we know, but something happened in the last three days to make him decide to just leave. If it's something he wants to spare us, that's all the more reason we should insist on being part of it. He needs us…whatever he's going through, right now, having his friends to share the burden can only help."

"Plus, he burned some serious bridges with CSI by taking off the way he did, and if we don't get him to talk to us soon, we might not be able to get him his job back." Catherine said.

Playing devil's advocate, Warrick inquired, "What makes you think he wants his job back?" He brought a triangle of golden toast smeared with marmalade to his lips and waited for someone to present a cogent argument.

"We don't know that he does," Catherine said briskly, "but I want to hear it from him in person before I just let this slide. You know Griss…he's always defined himself by his job…this job. It's my opinion that something terrible must have happened, for him to just drop out of sight like this. Irregardless, I'm the acting supervisor and don't need your consent to search for him, but I would like your input, and your help, if you're willing."

"Well…might he have gotten a new job? There's got to be a limited number of places that could hire someone of his qualifications…" Greg trailed off, looking to Sara for support.

"You're right, Greg," Sara's smile rewarded Greg amply for his contribution, "I can't see Grissom being jobless for long…so the possibilities include…let's see, CSI units, Universities, FBI…"

"Not likely!" Nick chortled, "He hates those spooks. What about nature expeditions? Most of those would snap up an entomologist like that" and he snapped his fingers to emphasize his point.

"There's also zoos and wildlife organizations…" Catherine speculated.

"If he's not working, what then?" Warrick wondered.

"We can only pray he _is_ working, Warrick" Catherine sighed, "If he's out somewhere in the world, either traveling or holing up somewhere, we have about a snowball's chance in Vegas of finding him. At least searching possible job sources narrows down the possibilities somewhat. There're just not too many places out there that need an entomologist."

"Guys, I don't want to be the one to rain on your parade, here," said Greg, waving his fork in the air to emphasize his words, "but how can we chase him down? He's not a missing person, we can't exactly use lab resources to search for him." He paused, and then with a twinkle in his eye, resumed speaking, but this time in the manner of a forties gangster, "What are we gonna do, hire a private eye? 'Cause I don't have that kinda dough, see?" Greg's irrepressible nature was hard to keep down for long, and the change in mannerism made them all chuckle, startled out of their funk for a moment.

"Ah, but that's the beauty of my plan, Greg," Catherine grinned, "We will be able to use lab resources, along with our own resources, and do it all legally."

"Your 'plan', Catherine?" Nick made air quotes with his fingers to emphasize the word, "Please tell me we aren't gonna need a shipment of crazy doodads from ACME to catch this wily roadrunner." They all laughed again at Nick's implication.

"Nothing that complex, Nick," Catherine smiled, "or that screwball. We're gonna take advantage of the cases we're already working. Warrick, don't you have that child abduction by parent case still open right now?"

"Yeah…" Warrick drawled, not seeing where Cath was going with this.

"Have you contacted the airlines for passenger manifests yet?" She smirked.

Still not seeing where she was heading with this, Warrick shook his head. Catherine gestured triumphantly to Warrick and announced, "Well, see this is an example of how we'll do this; Warrick, the child was abducted 4 days ago…the father might have flown out of town, taken a train or a bus or driven. Or they might both still be in town. But, when Warrick requests passenger lists from the airline, bus company and train ticketing agents, he'll request them from now to four days back…and while he searches the list for the names of the father and child, he'll also be searching for Grissom's name."

"And then Nick," she said, turning to face the subject of her next line of attack, you've got the drug trafficker who posted bail and went AWOL, right? He's probably left the country, either legally or illegally. This happened in the last three days, and you could legitimately get a warrant for any record of border crossings in that time, and while you search for your mule, you could search for Grissom's name as well…"

Smiles were growing around the table as they all clued into Cath's plan. "And," Sara said enthusiastically, "so much of the time people just give us information without a warrant because they don't realize we need one…that can be a problem with obtaining evidence for court, but we're not doing it for that reason. So, we can approach those Universities, scientific expeditions, etc. and ask for the information. And they just might give it to us!"

"Exactly, Sara!" Catherine cheered, but then sobered and held up one finger in front of her face, "But…we have to be careful with that sort of thing. If you're doing that on company time, it can only be while all other work is done and you're just sitting around, waiting for samples to process, etc. The work can't suffer." She looked around at each member of their little group, asking them each a question with her eyes, to which they all nodded or otherwise responded in the affirmative. Finally, gratified, she smiled at them all. "Thank you for being so willing to add to your already heavy loads. We've got the best team anywhere, and I know we'll find him."

In the shuffle of everyone attempting to pull wallets out and offer to pay the tip for the group, Catherine spoke to Sara in an undertone, "Stay, please." She then graciously accepted a quarter of what each man offered, and shooed them on their way. Sara sat, still as a stone, sipping her now cooled coffee while she waited.

"Sara," Catherine began, turning to face the younger woman, "I'm putting you in charge of gathering and interpreting the evidence we all find. The hunt for Gil Grissom is your case, unofficially, of course, so I'll be assigning you the lightest, easiest cases until we track him down."

Sara cogitated on this for a few moments, watching her fingers idly crumpling and tearing a paper napkin into thousands of tiny fragments. Finally, she looked up, eyes narrowed shrewdly, "why me Cath? It's no secret that he and I haven't been getting along well lately."

"I doubt that's your doing," Catherine said bluntly, "I want you on this because you're a bulldog Sara; once you sink your teeth into something, you never give up. It'll take an attitude like that to catch a genius like Gil Grissom…he may or may not be able to outsmart you, but he certainly won't be able to out-stubborn you. And, whether or not you guys are friendly at the moment, I know you have feelings for him," she continued, ignoring Sara's flinch, "which I hope will make you even more motivated to track him down."

Sara was silent for several minutes, during which time she stared off into space as she absently stirred the paper napkin fragments with one finger, until they resembled the spiral formation of a hurricane. Catherine waited as patiently as she knew how, knowing better than to push Sara on this; she either would help or she wouldn't, and either way, she'd make the choice for reasons of her own that Catherine would likely never apprehend.

Finally, awareness returned to Sara's visage, and Catherine sighed in relief, reading her answer in Sara's determined brown gaze. Sara nodded unnecessarily in affirmation, adding, "I'll do it, Cath." Catherine thanked her, and laid out enough cash to cover the check, as she and Sara rose in preparation for departure.

As they moved to exit the building, Catherine clasped Sara's shoulder in a brief gesture of appreciation. "I know you'll find him Sar."

"Oh, I will" The stern set of Sara's jaw made Catherine smile inwardly. 'You can run, but you can't hide, Gil Grissom,' she thought in amusement, as she watched Sara stride off into the parking lot. 'There is no stopping the force that is Sara Sidle when she's set herself to a task. She'll work herself into the ground for a stranger. Since it's you, she'll work around the clock. And when she finds you…well, I pity you Gil, I really do' She smirked; well satisfied with the events she'd set in motion today. Gil Grissom's days of anonymity were numbered.


	7. Chapter 7

Disclaimer: Sheesh, I have nothing but admiration for anyone who doesn't get tired of writing these.

A/N: Thank you all, the response has been gratifying! And N, I'll keep in mind that 40 is a lot ;) Oh, and I know there are a few readers from Brazil; I sadly have never had a chance to visit your beautiful country, but I pieced this together as best I could from internet accounts, and it's accurate as far as I know…feel free to let me know if I messed up, though!

Chapter 7

Sara jerked awake from her troubled sleep as her conveyance hit a large pothole, launching her several inches into the air. She landed with a jolt back in her vinyl padded bench seat and swiftly did a head-to-toe check of her person, making sure her backpack strap was still wrapped tightly round her feet, her money wallet was safely under her shirt, and her map of the eastern Brazilian coastline was…where was it? Panicking slightly, she shifted this way and that, peering behind her back, and lifted one buttock and then the other looking for it, in case she'd sat on it during her nap, and then finally located it on the floor at her feet. She must've fallen asleep with the map in her hand, and it had fallen when her grip slackened as she lost her battle with consciousness.

She sighed in relief…the tourist information for this area that she'd downloaded off the web had included stern warnings to keep all belongings firmly attached to her body at all times, stating that theft was a major problem. Now, fully alert, she looked around to see if the scenery had changed since she'd boarded the bus, now…4 hours ago, she realized, checking her watch. The urban jungle that was Rio de Janeiro, consisting of tightly clustered buildings closely bordered by endless ocean on the east, and dense rain forest in the other three directions had swiftly given way to endless green. Now, Sara still noted that green, and wished wistfully that she'd thought to pick up a nature guide to Brazil…she couldn't give names to the majestic trees and intensely colored vegetation that they trundled through, and she wanted to. She did know that it was beautiful.

She settled back against the vinyl seat and rubbed her forehead with two fingers. The bus was, thankfully, air conditioned, but the sheer intensity of the sunlight, whenever the trees gave way to coffee plantations or towns, made her head throb. The chaos inside her head didn't help either. She sighed again, still conflicted. Catherine had seemed so certain that this was the right thing to do, but she still wasn't sure she agreed. Still, everything else over the last few months had demonstrated the efficacy of Catherine's plan; as she'd predicted, Warrick's search of airplane manifests yielded not only the names he was looking for, but also another name; one Grissom, Gilbert I. Grissom's name had appeared on the listing for a flight to Brazil, and so they had their first clue.

Her brow crinkled, as she wondered yet again why Grissom had made no attempt at misdirection when it came to his ultimate destination. Why not take a flight with a layover in Dallas instead of a direct flight? Without a warrant it would have been impossible for them to get flight information leaving Dallas, or any other airport; yet he'd booked a flight for exactly where he intended to end up. It was odd, considering the effort he'd gone to in order to leave no trace. The only possible explanation she could come up with made her immeasurably sad; that he'd made no attempt to mislead simply because he did not expect anyone to really try to find him. She hoped he understood how much he was loved and missed, by everyone on his team, but she had to admit that the possibility fit his self-effacing personality.

Once Sara obtained Grissom's general destination from Warrick, she set to work with a will. She compiled a list of every university, scientific and nature organization in Brazil that was large enough to attract and keep the services of an entomologist of Gil Grissom's stature. Then she created a false e-mail account, using a made up name, one Cassie Jenson. Using this account, she crafted a missive in which she described herself as a graduate student in plant ecology, looking to perform research in a lab, university or nature reserve. In her letter she indicated that she had already obtained sufficient funding for her research (which ought to placate budget-minded bureaucrats), but was looking for a site that also had an on-site entomologist. Her excuse was that she needed a collaborator who could give her insight into the pollinators that took part in the ecosystems she desired to study. Therefore, could they tell her if there was an entomologist on site, or accessible, and give her a name and contact information so she could request that person's assistance?

Sara spent countless hours personalizing each copy of this message so that it looked like she was writing it just for that institution or program, and sent them off one by one, like hundreds of passenger pigeons with vital messages attached to their legs. And, like those self-same birds, the replies came winging home, day after day bearing negative responses or giving up names of entomologists of no interest to her. She completed her work like a robot during those weeks, living only for the time when either shift was over, or she had a moment of downtime in a case. Then, every time, she'd rush to her computer to check her e-mail, only to have her hopes dashed, over and over again.

Three weeks after she'd sent off that first e-mail she'd awoken sweating and shuddering in her bed, recovering from one of her usual assortment of night terrors. Knowing that sleeping any more tonight was a lost cause, she dragged herself out of bed and shuffled into the kitchen to make a fresh pot of coffee. Once the first sip of the miracle liquid had turned her once again from zombie to human, she flipped on her laptop, and took a seat at her desk, waiting for her system to boot up. When the familiar blue horizon of a Windows desktop filled her screen she logged into her e-mail account and began perusing the new messages. As had become usual, there were a handful of replies from Brazilian organizations, so she gathered up her swiftly depleting fortitude and began to scan through each one. Halfway through the third new message, she froze in place. It read:

_Dear Ms. Jensen,_

_Thank you for your interest in taking part in the exciting research opportunities available at Iracambi Atlantic Rainforest Research and Conservation Center. I hope that you will find the following information helpful in making your decision on a site to complete your important research. To answer your primary question, yes, we do have an entomologist on site, a Dr. Gilbert I. Grissom. He is a recent addition to our team, but I think you'll find that he is eminently qualified to assist you in your endeavor. To contact Dr. Grissom, e-mail him at ggrissom iracambi . com. Should you decide that Iracambi is a good match for your research needs, information on research opportunities at Iracambi may be found at http : /www . iracambi . com / english / researcher . shtml. I've also taken the liberty of attaching a copy of our research center's brochure to this message._

_Thank you for your interest, and should that interest lead you to join our team, I'll look forward to working with you,_

_Cordially,_

_Pippa Alliard_

_Assistant Director_

_Iracambi Rainforest Research and Conservation Center_

Sara stared at her computer in utter shock for what seemed like hours. The first coherent thought to cross her mind was oddly irrelevant. 'What the heck kind of name is _Pippa_?' Finally, she gathered her thoughts and became aware of a wave of exultation rising up within her. She grabbed the phone in trembling fingers; it took two tries for her to manage to punch the right combinations of numbers. Finally, when the person on the other end of the line picked up, Sara could no longer contain herself; "Catherine!" she cried, "WE FOUND HIM!"

An unintelligible announcement in Portuguese brought her out of her thoughts. Did she hear "Muriaé" in that jumble of syllables? She knew what her transfers were, but the bus driver made no allowance for non-speakers of Portuguese. She set herself to watch for signs as they pulled up to the bus station in another small city. With relief she noticed a sign reading 'Bem-vindo à Muriaé', so she shoved her map into the spacious pocket in her cargo shorts, slung her backpack over one shoulder, and joined the queue waiting to exit the bus.

Once outside, she pushed up on her toes and stretched her arms above her head until her joints cracked. Groaning in relief, she looked around herself. Muriaé looked much like most South American cities; closely set, medium-high buildings, looking like tan and white children's building blocks with orange tile roofs. The broad river running right through the center of town was unusual, she admitted to herself, but otherwise, nothing stood out. There was a tourist hotel right next to the bus depot, and she had a half an hour until her next bus arrived, so she headed that way, hoping to see if she could reserve a room for tonight. She knew from her research that Iracambi had no guest quarters, so she'd have to return here on the six o'clock bus. That would give her approximately two hours to convince Grissom to come home. 'More than enough time', she though with a shudder, 'or perhaps too much.'

Twenty minutes later she hurried back into the bus depot with a hotel confirmation for that night tucked safely away in her backpack. Only moments later, the 1:30 bus to Limeira pulled up in a cloud of dust and she jogged over to join the line forming outside its doors. When the vehicle pulled away a few minutes later, she was safely ensconced in a middle seat, leaning up against her backpack and closing her eyes to try to catch a few more minutes' sleep.

**_The members of the nightshift arrived, one by one, and claimed a round booth to the rear of the restaurant. Frank's Diner was their usual choice for these kinds of powwows, because it was open 24 hours, but when, as now, they chose to get together outside of graveyard hours, the pink neon and black glass facade of the Peppermill saw their patronage more often than not. The food was good, as was the music, and, for a restaurant on the Strip, it was remarkably quiet. Once they'd placed their orders, Nick, Greg and Warrick all turned expectantly to Catherine, to find out why she'd called this meeting. Sara stared at her hands, folded in her lap to reflect a calmness she did not actually feel._**

**"**_So…Cath…I assume we're here about Grissom?" Nick queried._****

**"**_Astute of you to figure that out," Catherine grinned._****

**"**_Well…if you wanted to see us for any other reason, we could have done this in the break room at work," Greg pointed out, wryly._****

**"**_True. Well, I won't beat around the bush; Sara's found Grissom…" and, bulldozing on through the surprised and happy exclamations from all three men, Cath continued, "and we need to decide exactly what to do with the information."_****

**_All three men subsided, considering. "You're right, Cath. We never did get that far when we planned this. Where is he exactly?" Nick inquired._**

**"**_Iracambi, a conservation center in Brazil," Sara spoke up for the first time, flicking her eyes up to meet the eyes of her colleagues, briefly._****

**"**_Sara got an e-mail addy for him, and we could try e-mailing, but I think this requires a more personal touch," Catherine smirked. "An e-mail he can delete or ignore, but if one of us shows up in person he'd have to hear us out."_****

**_At this, everyone gaped at Catherine. Finally, Warrick found his voice. "Cath, you're my boss and a good friend and all, but DAMN, woman! Who of all of us has the time and money to jaunt off to Brazil?"_**

**"**_Well, as for money, I've come into a bit of money lately," Catherine hedged, obliquely referencing the recent check from Sam Braun. "I can fund this operation. I think only one of us has sufficient leave time accumulated, though…" All eyes turned to focus on the person sitting to Catherine's right._****

**"**_What?" Sara said, startled. "Me? You guys are crazy! I'm the last person Griss would listen to!"_****

**"**_Sar, the boss-lady had a point; you have, what, 12 weeks of leave accumulated? All of the rest of us have taken our allotted vacation time each year. We have zippo, zero, nada. You're the only possible choice." Nick said gently. "Besides, sweetie, you underestimate your influence over him; he's got an enormous soft spot for you, we've all seen it."_****

**_Sara snorted in disbelief. "Guys!" she whined, "what if I don't want to do this?"_**

**_Four pairs of eyes examined her skeptically for a long moment. Finally, Greg said, curiously, "Sara, do you want Grissom to come back?"_**

**_Sara stared down at her hands again. Finally, "Yes," she admitted, without looking up._**

**"**_So?" Catherine demanded. Sara looked up and sighed. _****

**"**_OK, I'll do it"_****

The name Limeira amidst another indecipherable burst of Portuguese brought Sara out of her wandering thoughts. She hadn't really slept, as this leg of the journey was only just over an hour, but she'd gone over again in her head the day she'd made the decision to come here, wondering if, in the end, there was any other choice she could have made. It had taken six weeks from that day to arrange all the details of this trip; though clearly getting her leave time authorized was no problem, Sara had never been a world traveler, so she had to obtain a passport, tourist visa, and numerous inoculations. All of those things took time that she wasn't sure they had, but she was here, finally. As she stepped down off of the bus and looked around the small town curiously, she hoped that the object of her quest still resided here.

Before she set to her task of finding transportation to the center itself, she gazed around wonderingly at the dense Atlantic rainforest. She'd thought that the greenery was pervasive on the drive here, but she could see now that the countryside through which she'd traveled was a sort of domesticated rainforest. Here, the presence of unspoiled natural habitat was obvious everywhere she looked. The air was filled with the tweets, caws, whistles, and croaks of native birds, and other, vaguely simian sounds overlaid that with trills, clucks and whines. A strange mammal that looked like an otter with porcupine quills waddled across the walkway right in front of her. Here, it was clear that humans were the visitors and the wild things were the proprietors of the land.

Making her way to the bus depot's ticket office, she pulled out her Portuguese phrase book and swiftly looked up the phrase she needed to ask: "Como faço para obter a Iracambi?"

The man looked amused at her pronunciation, and took pity on her obvious gringo inadequacy. In halting English, he replied, "You can take taxi. Is 50 dollars American. Or, can take school bus—is free." He shrugged and pointed to a road sign a few meters away, showing a bus shaped outline and a few words in Portuguese.

Sara approached the sign, warily. She wasn't sure about taking a twenty-minute ride with a bus full of children speaking a foreign language, but her frugal nature revolted at the idea of spending fifty bucks when there was a cheaper option. She decided that she'd give it ten minutes, and if the school bus didn't arrive in that time, she'd try the costlier option.

Within just three or four minutes, however, a stereotypically yellow bus approached. When it pulled up to her and the doors hissed open, she looked up at the squat brown-skinned driver and asked nervously, "Iracambi?"

"Sim, senhora," he smiled and nodded at her. Encouraged, she took the shallow steps up and slid into the first empty seat she saw. She turned to look around her and found that the bus was not very full. There were perhaps ten children scattered around the benches and all were staring shyly at her from under black, brown and even blonde bangs. She smiled slightly and waved her hand in a small hello, and a few of the children found the courage to wave back, while most of them giggled. She heard the word "Americana" and "gringa" several times amongst their ensuing chatter, but understood nothing else, and so she leaned her forehead against the window and watched the rainforest slide by.

In no time at all, the bus driver called out, "Senhora!, chegamos Iracambi!" and she sat up so fast she almost lost her balance. She looked out her window and saw…nothing much. A red dirt path sloped downhill from the road, with wooden posts driven into the earth alongside it, every 10 feet or so. Tall grasses grew in profusion around the path and gate. Blocking access to the path was a wooden gate that would come up to her hip if she were down on the ground.

She looked at the driver uncertainly and he grinned at her and said, in very broken English, "Iracambi, you go!" She sighed, and made her way to the front of the bus and descended to the roadway. The bus churned busily off to continue its dusty journey as she stared at the weathered wooden gate. On the middle bar, the word "Iracambi" was painted in white, curvy letters. Visibly gathering her courage, Sara pulled open the gate and started down the lonely path.


	8. Chapter 8

Disclaimer: Nuh uh.

A/N: Thank you all for your comments. The part most of you are probably waiting for (and N's favorite chapters) are coming…very soon.

Chapter 8

She'd hardly taken a dozen steps when the scenery transformed around her. She turned a slight curve and was suddenly looking down into a fertile green valley with a central scattering of low white buildings. Black and brown cattle dotted the slopes around the research center, a physical reminder of the Center's other purpose; it was a working farm, meant to show the native Tupi and Guaraní Indians that they could continue the farming that was their ancestral way of life, and they could also support their families without clear-cutting the rainforest.

The clear-cutting of the Amazon rain forest was a world concern; Sara herself had regularly donated money to the Nature Conservancy and other organizations that devoted themselves to halting this devastating practice. It wasn't until she'd begun researching Iracambi that she'd realized that the damage was by no means equally distributed around the Amazon basin. In fact, the Amazon, overall, had lost about a quarter of its forest. However, the Atlantic Rainforest had lost over 90% of its ancient trees. It was considered one of the ten most endangered habitats on earth, and was also a biodiversity hotspot. Hotspots were internationally recognized as being homes to the greatest numbers of unique species on earth, and so were at the greatest risk of causing a mass extinction event if the habitat was completely destroyed.

Sara was actually surprised, and a little impressed that this was the place Grissom fled to. He'd never particularly given her the impression that he was concerned with environmental issues, though he had let her continue researching a Gorilla murder once.

She shook her head in wonder at how little she still knew about him after all these years.

Looking up, she realized that she'd covered considerable distance during her maunderings. The Center had resolved itself into five separate buildings plus numerous outbuildings that were probably greenhouses and sheds. There was one large, central building, and four smaller buildings scattered around it, each about the size of a studio apartment. As she examined the structures, she realized with a sinking sensation that her approach had been noted. A white-clad figure was trotting across the grassy sward, clearly intent on converging with her route. She swallowed, her nerves returning.

Sara had known she couldn't continue to pose as Cassie Jensen for this journey. After all, she had no intention of contacting Grissom to ask for help. And, she really didn't want to deceive the Center to that extent; having them expect and prepare for someone who would stay and perform research for months, when she would only be there for a day. So, she'd concocted an alternate story to explain this visit, and now she had only moments to gather the shreds of her invention together and speak to her greeter with a cohesive persona.

Her preparations turned out to be premature, however. As the sturdy looking rancher approached, he doffed his wide brimmed straw hat and called out, "Olá senhora. Você é o esperado?"

Cursing herself for forgetting the language barrier momentarily, Sara fumbled out her phrase book while the man waited, black eyes glittering inscrutably. "Sinto muito. Eu não entendo Português. Você fala Inglês? (I'm sorry, I don't understand Portuguese, do you speak English?)" she stumbled.

"Ah, Americana! Um momento, senhora." The man trotted off towards the biggest building, and Sara, after a moment, followed slowly in his wake. At the foot of the stairs leading to the door, she waited as her impromptu guide spouted an explanation to someone unseen in a liquid gabble that was just similar enough to her high school Spanish to sound familiar, but not close enough to give her any idea of what was being said. Someone with a melodic contralto replied in the same fashion, and then the worker stepped back outside. "Minha senhora, este é o nosso Assistente de Direção," he said, indicating the regal looking woman following at his heels.

The woman regarded her, expressionless for a moment. Her long gray hair was swept into a loose bun on the back of her head, and her bottle-green eyes stood out against her café au lait skin. She was dressed practically in khaki pants and a white t-shirt with the Center's logo, but Sara could easily see her in a formal gown, with skirts swishing around her feet and diamonds sparkling at ear, wrist and throat. Finally, she spoke. "Hello. I am Pippa Alliard, Assistant Director here at the Center. What can I do for you?" she inquired politely, her English unaccented.

Squaring her shoulders, Sara slipped into a persona that was familiar to her (and the reason she'd chosen this scenario to act out), and began to speak: "Hi, uh, ma'am. I'm Sara Sidle, and I'm on the staff of the Harvard Crimson, you know, uh, our school newspaper?" She handed over her Harvard student id. It'd been a snap to produce that as "evidence" for her story; she still had owned an old student id, and she'd taken it to Archie and asked him to reproduce it, changing only the year. Using her own name made sense; since she was already here, Grissom wouldn't have a chance to hear her name and avoid her, and she'd feel and act much more natural being addressed by her own name. She just hoped she still looked young enough to pass for a college student.

The Assistant Director's eyebrow slanted up briefly as she examined the plastic rectangle, and her eyes flicked up once, as if comparing the picture to Sara's visage, but otherwise, her face remained without expression. She handed the card back to Sara and motioned for her to continue. Swallowing, Sara dove back into her story, "I'm very sorry, uh, I know you folks are probably really busy and I know I didn't get permission to come here, but there's a logical explanation for that…"

The woman's expression remained closed. Finally, she spoke, "Go on."

"Well, you see, I'm on spring break and vacationing here in Brazil with some friends, and my editor, he asked, since I was gonna be here anyways, if I could do some research on the efforts here in Brazil for rainforest conservation, and I didn't even know about this place or about the Atlantic Rainforest until I got here to Brazil. I only have two days left of my vacation, and I thought about e-mailing to ask you guys for permission to come out here, but I honestly didn't have time to wait for an e-mail response. So I'm asking you, and I know it's an imposition, but could I possibly walk around this place, get some pictures and interview some of your researchers?" Sara gasped for breath, having given the entire memorized spiel without pausing to breath, as she was afraid she'd forget and leave something out.

The woman pursed her lips, considering. Finally, she asked, "I hope you are not expecting to stay here overnight?"

"Oh, no, ma'am," Sara reassured her, "I plan on catching the 6 p.m. bus out of here tonight. I have hotel reservations in Muriaé."

The woman nodded, and finally produced a small, polite smile for Sara. "I have no problems with the pictures, so long as you get signed consents from any person who appears in them. As for interviews, this is a working farm and conservation center; if a worker has time to speak to you, that's between you and them, but I cannot promise anything."

"That's all I could ask for. Thank you so much, Ms. Alliard. I'm really excited to learn more about the important work you all do here," Sara beamed, offering her hand to the Assistant Director. The woman's handshake was as firm and no nonsense as the woman herself. "If I may ask, where are the researchers working right now?"

The woman shrugged, expressively. "Most are out on the farm or in the forest, at this time of day. Oh, except for Dr. Grissom."

Sara couldn't believe her luck that his name had come up without her having to mention it. She'd pummeled her brain for hours trying to think of a way to find out his specific whereabouts, and every scheme she thought of was weak and easy for someone perceptive to see through. The truth was, her Harvard student alter ego would have no reason to care about Dr. Grissom. But this gave her the intro she needed.

"Why? Where is Dr. Grissom?" She asked, striving to appear casual and mildly interested, even as her heart raced a mile a minute, praying for an answer that would allow her to find him.

"Oh, Dr. Grissom is probably asleep," The woman answered carelessly, "He's been cataloguing nocturnal insect species for the last week and has been staying up all night every night. You will not be able to interview him, I am sorry."

"Oh, no problem, ma'am," Sara responded, thinking swiftly. Inspired, she asked "If you don't mind, could you point out Dr. Grissom's rooms so can make sure I don't accidentally wake him?'

"That's a good idea," the Assistant Director nodded approvingly. "Dr. Grissom is quartered in the third casinha to the right." Sara knew, from her research, that a casinha was a small house. She nodded, and said, eager to get going on her true mission, "Thank you so much, Ms. Alliard. I'll be out of your hair in just a couple of hours."

The woman nodded briskly and turned with no further speech to return to what was presumably her office inside the main building. Conscious of being watched, Sara strode off in the opposite direction of Grissom's casinha and began to go over her plan of attack in her head. After about ten minutes, she'd stealthily circled the building and returned to the third casinha. She wondered whether she should knock and risk having him in a foul mood due to being rudely awakened, or whether she should look for another way in. Idly, she twisted the knob, torn. To her great surprise, the knob rotated freely in her hand. It wasn't locked!

She turned the knob slowly, and eased the door open an inch at a time, fearing that the squeal of ungreased hinges might give her away, but the door opened silently. Skulking like a shadow, she slipped inside and closed the door just as slowly as she'd opened it, and then looked around herself. The casinha was a tiny building, but still, it had a modestly furnished living room, a microscopic kitchen, and three doors branching off of the living room. Presumably one of these was a bathroom, but which one held her quarry?

The first door, on the far right, yielded the bathroom she'd predicted, with a simple toilet, tiny vanity and a shower, no bath. The second room proved to be a bedroom, and was empty, save for a dresser and a double bed. Feeling both fear and exhilaration, she eased the third door open a couple of inches, and then peered through the gap.

The room was a mirror of the first bedroom, with one major exception: in this room, the bed wasn't empty. She shoved her fist in her mouth to stop a gasp from escaping; it was Grissom, but not as she'd ever seen him before. His face was turned away from her, though his sleep-tousled brown and gray curls identified him. A white sheet was slung casually over his hip, but, at least on the upper half of his body, he was completely, gloriously nude!

His skin, which had always appeared tanned despite the lack of sunlight in his life, was golden from his shoulders to the base of his spine, though the back of his neck sported a darker bronzing from exposure to the sun. His back displayed nice musculature, the type of body structure that comes from an active physical life, not from working out with weights. If he'd carried a little spare weight around the middle, back in Las Vegas, three months of physical labor and nearly vegetarian cuisine here had trimmed his waistline, as there was no excess flesh to be seen. The sheet preserved his modesty, for the most part, but it did dip down slightly at the back to show just the beginning of the hollow at the top of his ass.

Sara closed her eyes and bit back a moan. She felt tingles sparking through her and moisture gathering between her legs, all from a view of a man's back! Pulling the door mostly shut again, she leaned her had against the doorjamb, wondering what to do now. She couldn't wake him…he'd feel exposed to have her see him that way, which would NOT be a productive beginning to her persuasive efforts. Besides which, she frowned to realize, she didn't want him to see her this way; she was sweaty, her hair was a frizzy mess and she probably smelled of diesel fuel from her several bus excursions today. She sighed and decided that the logical thing would be to wash up quickly and then go back outside and knock politely at the door. Decision made, she grabbed her backpack and headed for the bathroom.


	9. Chapter 9

Disclaimer: If I owned the show, after this chapter, CSI would only be aired on HBO (also not mine).

A/N: This is the beginning of what you've been waiting for …and the beginning of N's favorite chapters.

Chapter 9

Though she worried that using Grissom's shower was inappropriate without his knowledge, she felt so disgusting that a sponge bath would not do the trick. So she stole into his bathroom as quietly as possible, and started the shower on its weakest setting so that any sound that reached him would be muffled. Then she stripped down, barking her elbows on the walls and countertop in the tiny space in the process, and stepped under the spray. She soaped up with the plain bar soap that she found in a hanging tray in the shower cubicle, and, after some searching, she found a bottle with Portuguese writing that she assumed must be shampoo and used that as well.

Feeling considerably refreshed, Sara wrapped the thin towel that had been hanging on the bathroom's towel bar around her torso and pursed her lips, appraising her reflection in the mirror. Her wet hair was already springing up into curls around her face, and she sighed; her curly hair was a trial to her, but, she reflected, at least curls were better than frizz. The face bracketed by the mahogany brown of her curls was, in her opinion, too odd for beauty; her lips were too thin, her cheekbones too wide, and her nose had an odd shape to it. Still, plenty of men had been attracted to her in the past, so she supposed she had a certain charm; she knew her eyes were a nice feature, as former lovers had frequently complimented them, and she had no doubt that her long legs were sexy, but she had often longed for bigger breasts and a curvier body. Still, she sighed again, tall and slim was 'in', right?

She shook her head as if to shake these thoughts free. What did it matter what she looked like? Sure, she would have loved to attract Grissom, but she'd had plenty of chances and zero luck on that front, so why did she keep trying? "I'm a glutton for punishment!" she grumbled to her reflection and then laughed at herself. The man she'd longed for all these years, and the object of her quest lay a few feet away, yet she stood in his bathroom wearing only a towel and chatted with her reflection? Amused at her own irrational behavior, she grabbed her backpack and headed into the living room to get dressed. That shoebox of a bathroom was much too small to try to get dressed in; she'd earned that knowledge, along with her scraped elbows, when she'd tried to get **un**dressed in there.

She'd hardly taken two steps, however, when a completely unexpected sound made her freeze in place. It was impossible, but she'd thought she'd heard Grissom call her name! She strained her ears, listening to see if the sound was repeated. A few seconds later, she heard a soft groan. Making her way on cat-like feet to Grissom's bedroom door, she shifted the door open a tiny bit, and looked in. Her shoulders slumped. He was quite obviously still asleep, but he was shifting about and muttering unintelligible phrases. Clearly, he was dreaming. Concerned that he was trapped in a nightmare, Sara pushed the door open all the way and tiptoed to his bedside, trying to see if he was suffering.

Just as she reached his side, he rolled over fully, as if to face her and she jumped back, her heart in her throat. As she panted to try to get her heart rate back under control, she noticed that his eyes seemed to be dancing under their lids, and his lips and jaw twitched every so often; clearly he was in a state of REM sleep, and he was dreaming. Searching for clues, she scanned his body, only to find her heart rate accelerating again: when he'd rolled over, the sheet that had protected his modesty earlier had given up the ghost. Now, it sagged near his knees and he was totally (and gloriously!) exposed.

Knowing that it was wrong, but knowing also that she'd likely never get this chance again, Sara drank in the curves and angles of Grissom's body. His chest, like his back, was nicely structured, and virtually hairless; just acres and acres of smooth golden skin, broken in only two places, by flat brown nipples. The width of his chest narrowed down to muscular flanks and slim hips, and between those hips…oooooh, god. Amidst grizzled curls, his genitals rested proudly, like a gift set upon crinkled paper strips. One of his legs was bent, and his cock rested on that leg, as if to flaunt itself. It was a powerful looking organ, long and firm. Sara closed her eyes and licked her lips, helpless to avoid the desire that rushed through her.

Then, her eyes shot open as she realized with hopeless longing what the length and firmness of Grissom's penis meant; he was aroused! As if to confirm her deduction, a tiny moan fell from his lips again, and his cock twitched, and before her eyes became firmer, fuller. "Oh god," she mumbled. She knew now what she was seeing; he was having an erotic dream! Sara knew she had no business being here, invading his privacy like this, but she felt as if her feet were nailed to the floor. His state of arousal was so gorgeous that she couldn't take her eyes off of him.

She watched breathlessly as his face contorted with the pleasure he was getting from his dream. He was breathing rapidly, and as he hardened still more, his hips began to rock, just slightly. At this point, his penis was fully erect, standing proudly up against the skin of his stomach, and the ache between Sara's legs was at an all time high. God, she wanted him…but he'd probably reject her, breaking her heart all over again. As if hypnotized, she took one step towards the bed, then another, until suddenly she was standing over him, watching him raptly.

Shifting her legs, uncomfortably aware of the fluids collecting between them, Sara froze there in indecision. Could she risk making one more pass at him? Her nipples were so hard that the coarse weave of the towel chafed them and a fire was burning in her belly like nothing she'd ever known, but at the same time, her brain was telling her that this was wrong, that seducing him now would be like taking advantage of a drunk; he was not in control of his actions or his responses at the moment. Besides, though she'd always thought he was attracted to her, she'd never known for sure. What if he was dreaming of someone else, someone conventionally beautiful, curvaceous and sexy? Someone like Lady Heather, if the rumors were true, that'd be whom he was having a sex dream about.

His lips moved again, and he moaned some nearly intelligible syllables. Frustrated, Sara leaned closer, trying to hear him better. Giving into temptation, at least slightly, she slid onto the bed next to him, laying her head down on the pillow facing him. Her heart was still racing and her legs and arms trembled with arousal, but she lay passive, still afraid, guilty and uncertain. She watched the movement of his lips, as they opened once more and he spoke: "Sara, god, want you so bad!"

Sara's lips parted in amazement and elation; he was fantasizing about her! Some of the guilt fell away, and she shifted in determination. She was going to make his dream come true today, if she could, but she wanted him to choose it. So, that thought in mind, she undid the knot holding the towel above her breasts, letting it fall open so her body was exposed as an offering to him. Then, closing her eyes briefly and praying for a positive outcome, she reached out and made as if to give Grissom's shoulder a firm shake. Her body apparently had a mind of its own, however, and instead of shaking him awake, her hand grasped his bicep and then ran up to his neck in a sensual caress.

Grissom's eyes fluttered and opened briefly, their clouded blue taking in her nude form. Sara had expected that he would wake, question her presence, and she would have a chance to make her intentions clear, to allow him to choose. Instead, he clearly saw her presence as a continuation of his dream. Sliding his arms around her waist, he muttered, "God, you're beautiful" in a sleep-roughened voice and brought her lips urgently to meet his own!

For a moment, Sara stiffened, knowing how wrong this situation was. But his lips were both firm and soft, his invading tongue was slick as it pushed into her mouth and twined with her own, and his mouth was hot as an oven when it merged with hers. The tension in her limbs flowed away like water, only to be swiftly replaced with a different kind of tension altogether. He pulled away briefly, sparking in her the fear of rejection that haunted her, but he rejoined their lips again and then again, sucking on her tongue and bottom lip and licking, kissing and nibbling his way down her jaw to her neck. Finally, in spite of her terror of breaking whatever spell he was under, she couldn't hold back the moan that flew from her lips.

He pulled back again to look at her, and moaned in response as she bucked up against him. As if pulled by a magnet, he dove back into her lips, even as his hand lifted and stroked her breast. His thumb found the nipple unerringly and rubbed it into a tight peak. His other hand slid down from her waist until it was squeezing one side of her ass.

"Oh god! Gil…" she groaned into his mouth, and the sound of his given name on her lips must have resonated with his fantasy, for his reaction was sudden and intense. His cock, which had been pressed to her belly like a steel rod, jerked and he took action. With an expertise she never would have guessed at, he used his knees to press her legs apart, while never releasing her ass, breast or lips from his domination. Before she'd even had a chance to realize that they'd reached that stage, the head of his organ was pushing up against her opening, and with unerring aim, he drove himself into her.

There was pain, at first. He was big, and she had tensed up in surprise at his entry, but she had little time to recover, because he was oblivious to her struggle. He withdrew almost immediately, but soon pushed back into her again. As she overcame her surprise she began to feel how amazing this was; he moved slowly, but powerfully inside her, and her inner walls clung to him as if reluctant to part with him each and every time. Each time his hips drove against hers, his pubic bone rubbed her clit and a pulse of ecstasy shot through her.

He was slowly driving her into a frenzy. Even semi-conscious, he was an incredible lover; he seemed able to completely divorce his upper body from what his lower half was doing to her. Even as his cock plunged into her core again and again, his mouth and hands were constantly at work. He licked and sucked at her neck, her collarbone and her nipples, and his hands clutched at and massaged her breasts, and ass, or wound through her hair. His burning kisses swallowed her moans. And still, his hips circled and thrust, harder and harder, as if determined to fill her up inside. And her hips rose to greet him, envelop and swallow him up, over and over, taking him deeper than she'd ever had a man.

She would have been happy to be under him for the rest of her life, had that been a choice, but his skill was swiftly drawing her climax out of her. Sparks originating from that point where they were joined had been shooting through her for several moments even as the roughness of the thick base of his erection rubbing against her clit over and over again induced waves of that sweet pleasure-pain that she loved. In spite of her attempts to control and slow her responses to him, the sparks were shooting faster, and each wave of ecstasy grew stronger than the last. At last, the strongest wave of all bloomed out from her center, forcing her up into a backbreaking arch against him. The surge of the most intense orgasm she'd ever felt washed over her, graying out her vision and stiffening every muscle in her body. In the aftermath of it, she was utterly enervated…lying semi-conscious under him for long moments.

When full awareness returned, Sara realized that Grissom was swiftly reaching his completion; his face was buried in the side of her neck, and his upper torso was completely still, but for the flexing of his fingers, one of which clutched at and released her ass in rhythm with his steadily more powerful thrusts, while the other held her shoulder tightly, to inhibit her movement. At last, he pushed himself up on his hands to hold his torso above her and drove into her with such force that her whole body was lifted from the bed. He stayed in that position, straining, every tendon and sinew in his neck and arms standing out and a blush of red spreading out over his face and neck. His hips began to move in tiny, spastic jerks, even as she felt his scorching semen splashing against her inner walls. He seemed to come forever, hips jerking against hers again and again until finally he was utterly drained and most of the muscles in his body relaxed. Her ass was allowed to fall back against the sheets, though they remained joined. The one part of his body to remain rigid was his arms, which held his weight above her even has he panted and began to come back to himself. A drop of sweat collected from the many specks of perspiration at his hairline and ran down his nose to drip onto her chin.

For a long moment, Sara avoided opening her eyes, lying there with utter bliss coursing through her. She stubbornly refused to look at him, holding onto her afterglow with all her might. There were so many ways the next few minutes could go, and many of the possibilities she considered resulted in him rejecting her again. Finally, she couldn't help herself; she had to learn her fate. She looked up, only to see that his eyes were still pinched tightly shut, even as he panted above her and sweat from their exertions continued to drip from his body to hers. Then, a gleam of blue appeared, as his eyelids fluttered and finally separated. He gazed at her, eyes still clouded from his dream, at first, but swiftly becoming clearer and clearer. Even as his eyes became more aware, they opened wider and wider, until he was staring down at her in shock. His muscles, which had softened, were quickly becoming rigid once again, and Sara stared at him uneasily, wondering: which of the outcomes that she had anticipated for this encounter was she going to get?


	10. Chapter 10

Disclaimer: …

A/N: The smut goes on…and so does the angst. Enjoying yourself, N?

Chapter 10

The dream began in the same way it always had.

He was sitting at his desk, in his office surrounded by the effluvia of 20-plus years in forensics. Some vital task needed his attention. Perhaps the case reviews were overdue again. Or maybe he'd forgotten to perform employee evaluations and Ecklie was on his ass about it. The details of the dream varied, but one thing never changed. Eventually, something would attract dream-Grissom's attention and he'd look up to find an earthly angel leaning against his doorjamb. Sara's whiskey eyes glowed with affection, just as they always had, but, in contrast to Grissom's real life experience, she was wearing a come-hither smile and very little else.

She wore the standard lab-issue coveralls, but that's where normality ended. The front zipper of the coveralls was open to below her navel, and she wore, in place of a bra, a figure-enhancing velvet and lace corset in an innocent, yet strangely erotic pale pink. The corset pushed her breasts up so high that they threatened to spill out of the straining cups that held them prisoner. A jeweled stud in the dip of her navel seemed to be winking at him saucily. The cloth of the coveralls began again just below the curve of her stomach, and, if he stared hard, he imagined he could see a hint of pink lace just at the V of the zipper.

In his dream, her body always attracted his attention first; when he'd catalogued the delights she was displaying for him below her neck, his eyes would wander back up to her face. Like her lower body, her face was a contradiction; Her lips were glossed in pale pink, and her face was otherwise innocently naked of cosmetics, but her hair was a messy, curly halo around her face, giving her a 'just-fucked' look. By the time he finished with his careful scrutiny, his cock was beginning to twitch.

"Sara…" he husked, his voice somehow trapped in his throat. Sara smiled, and her smile was sweet and lovely, yet seemed to promise him untold sensual delights.

"Gil, my love," she sighed, "I want you."

He swallowed, hard. "Sara, we can't…it wouldn't be right."

Dream-Sara threw her head back and laughed aloud. Somehow, the sight of her long, long, pale throat pulsating with mirth caused him to stiffen even more. He moaned, unable to control his reaction to her.

His fantasy version of Sara was bold and sensual. After she finished laughing at his weak denial, she shimmied gracefully out of her coverall and stood revealed in all her nearly nude glory, bare but for the breast enhancing corset and a pink lacy pair of panties. His heart nearly stopped when he saw a tiny bud of pink flesh emerging from the crotchless center of those panties. Her clitoris was swollen and erect, so her claim of desire for him was no less than the truth.

Then, she prowled towards him, like a predatory feline. Panicking, his heart racing from more than fear, he stumbled back against the wall behind his desk.

"We can't do this here," he protested, in a last ditch effort to stave off her attack. His back was plastered against the wall and he had both arms raised as if surrendering. When she closed in on him and licked her lips hungrily, he rolled over to face the wall, clawing at it nonsensically as if searching for an escape, but there was nowhere to go.

Then, as always happened at this point in the dream, the walls and floor shimmered and flexed before his eyes. Then, he was floating, tumbling through a vast, multihued space. When the world finished shifting around him, he would find himself in his office, once again, but where his desk and files had been, sat an enormous bed. He was kneeling upon its spongy surface, and Sara was under him staring challengingly up at him. Looking around himself, he saw that the blinds were up, the door open, and oblivious criminalists were walking by, but somehow he felt no fear of being discovered in this incriminating position.

Looking down, he noted that her corset and panties had disappeared, in the way dreams have of making objects irrelevant, and he was nude as well, his cock swiftly hardening…not fully erect yet, but well on its way, just from the sight of her nudity. Oddly, he felt completely comfortable in his own nakedness, in spite of his colleagues working and talking only meters away.

Dream-Sara smiled at him triumphantly: "Is this a better location, Gil?" she whispered. She ran one slim hand over his ass, and he moaned, hardening still more. Not needing any more response from him than that, she began to explore his body with her soft hands, running them over his shoulders, down his back, pausing to squeeze his ass along the way.

Then, those magical fingers trailed over his flanks and around to the front of him to encircle his cock. His eyes rolled back in his head, and he lost control of his breathing, panting as if he'd just run a half-marathon. She began to stroke him slowly, starting with her hand loose around the base of his penis and slowly tightening it as she dragged her hand up to his tip, until she finished her motion with a squeeze of his purpled, weeping cock-head. He was now fully erect, his cock standing so high that it thumped against his belly every time she stroked it.

He was so aroused that he was rocking into her hands, unable to control the shuddering thrusts of his hips. As he felt his orgasm beginning to swell up in his belly, he reached down and grabbed her hand, pulling it away from him. At her questioning look, he explained, still gasping for breath, "I need you to stop," he moaned, "…I want to please you, first."

She smiled in acceptance. Reaching out to stroke his cheek, she murmured, "I understand…I want you to love me. You and no-one else for the rest of our lives."

The raw joy that swelled up in him at her statement left no room for further doubt.

She leaned forward, to kiss him almost chastely on the lips, and when she laid back again, he reached out a trembling forefinger and traced the sweet pink bow of her lips. Then she opened her mouth and took his finger inside, swirling her tongue around it and then sucking on it so that his turgid cock jerked.

"Sara! God, I want you so bad!" he moaned.

Sara smiled at him, her expression a blend of the sweet, awkward student he'd first met all those years ago, and the sensuous predator from a few minutes ago. "You can have me, Gil," she sighed. He closed his eyes in triumph, feeling like a male wolf whose chosen mate had just lifted her tail for him, offering him her loyalty, her body, the right to father her offspring…he felt like howling at the moon!

When he felt her soft fingers tracing his arm, from bicep to shoulder to the sensitive side of his neck, it was just a continuation of his dream, though there was an oddity to the sensation that forced his eyes to open for a moment. His vision was blurred, but he couldn't help seeing her, her slim, pale limbs, her high, proud breasts, tipped in pink, the tangle of natural brown curls between her hips…

"God, you're beautiful!" he groaned, his voice husky with arousal, and he gathered her into his arms and melded her mouth with his. Her lips were soft and slick, and seemed to merge with his until he wasn't sure where he left off and she began. His tongue demanded entrance, and her lips parted willingly, inviting him in. Their tongues danced inside the sweetness of her mouth, and, overwhelmed with desire, he had to pull back for a moment, to calm himself. But he couldn't escape the siren call of her perfect pink mouth, and he dove back in, kissing her, licking and sucking at her tongue and lips. Every time he pulled away, her lips would draw him back in.

Finally freeing himself, momentarily, he placed tender kisses from the corner of her mouth to underneath her ear, and then down across her neck to the hollow of her collarbone. He licked and sucked at that dainty dent, and then he trailed kisses back up to her shoulder, where some latent vampiric tendency surfaced in him, and he bit the join of her neck and shoulder. Then, he soothed the marks away with his tongue.

She moaned. For a second, a niggle of alarm touched his sleep-shadowed mind, but then she thrust her hips up, rubbing shamelessly against his impatient erection, and he moaned, lost in her. He devoured her lips again, unable to resist them, and raised one hand to grasp a pert breast. He stroked the plump flesh a few times and then teased her nipple with his thumb until it was as erect as he was. At the same time, he slid his other hand under her, wrapped his hand around one sweet cheek, and squeezed.

.

She groaned into his mouth and spoke recognizable words for the first time since he had begun to pleasure her. "Oh, god! Gil…" He always responded strongly in these dreams when she called him Gil…it was a longing he'd hidden for years, knowing that allowing her such a liberty in the workplace would be dangerous in the extreme. She couldn't be allowed to know that the thought of his given name on her pink lips made him instantly hard. At this moment, since he couldn't possibly get any harder for her, his cock throbbed once against his belly in reaction to her words.

Like he'd done a thousand times, in dreams, at least, he nimbly parted her legs with his knees and positioned himself against her. Needing to feel her everywhere at once, he clutched at her breast and ass, and kept his tongue tangled with hers, even as he drove himself into her, shoving his cock in so deep that he could feel his balls slap against her ass.

She was so goddamn tight, so wet, slick and hot that he nearly shot his seed into her right there and then…perhaps he should have noticed that this felt too real to be a dream, but at this point he was completely lost in her. If he let himself think about the way her vaginal walls gripped him, like she never wanted to part from him, he would lose his control much too soon. Therefore, he pulled out of her swiftly, but then thrust back in, repeating his actions over and over. He kept his pace slow and controlled, to maximize her pleasure. Since experience told him that penetration alone was seldom enough for a woman, he used the hand that was rhythmically squeezing her ass to tilt her hips up until his pubic bone was dragging across her clit with every thrust.

Beneath him, Sara was a mouthwatering feast and he was a doomed man trying to choose his last meal. Leaving a tiny part of his hindbrain in charge of the rhythmic pumping of his hips, he turned the rest of his considerable powers of concentration to other temptations. First, he returned to her neck. A smooth, slim column, he'd lost count of how many times he'd seen that beautiful neck bent over to look through a microscope or to process evidence. Every single time he saw it, he'd wanted to rub his erection up against her ass like a dog in heat. He wanted to sink his teeth into that smooth nape and take her from behind…Yeah, her neck was a major turn-on for him; he had to taste her there, again.

Starting just below her ear, he ran his tongue down the side of her neck, stopping to nip and suck at her skin every now and then. Sara was writhing under him, so stimulated that she was emitting a constant stream of soft moans and mewling gasps that she herself was probably unaware of. But Grissom catalogued every sigh, every groan. When nibbling on her collarbone caused her breathing to hitch, he memorized that spot for further study. When broad swipes of his tongue over one erect pink nipple caused her back to arch and her eyes to squeeze shut in ecstasy, he noted that too. And still his cock shuttled in and out of her hot core, filling her over and over again.

Her mouth fascinated him. He returned to join his lips with hers again and again. Even as he explored every dark secret space inside her mouth with his tongue, his hands must have suffered from ADHD, because they were constantly on the move. He ran a hand through her silky damp curls even as he kissed her and suckled her plump bottom lip. His hands, restless, moved on to clutch and rub and squeeze at her breasts, her hips, her ass. Sara's appreciation was obvious. Every time he stroked, kissed, sucked or clasped her, the volume of her cries rose a decibel.

Being inside her, skin on skin, was like nothing he'd ever felt. Grissom had always been a cautious man, and, no matter how trustworthy his sexual partners had seemed, he'd always deemed it prudent to take care of birth control himself. More than one short-lived relationship had ended because the woman in question insisted that he didn't trust her if he refused to stop using condoms. Since, in fact, that was the truth, he'd chosen not to argue the point. But now…now, he could feel Sara's living heat and moisture along every centimeter of his flesh. He could feel her rough curls scratching against his penis as his hips circled and then pushed into hers, again and again. He could feel the way her flesh reluctantly released him when he withdrew, only to eagerly suck him in again when he returned. The sensation was too incredible to quantify.

He wanted this to last forever, but an ancient mating instinct pushed him to slam into her harder and harder, seeking deeper and deeper within her. The biologist in him might have clinically described this drive as the endeavor to find the deepest part of her to deposit his genetic material, in order to shorten his gametes' journey towards their female counterparts. All he could think of in that moment, though, was that he wanted to fill her up, blend his body with hers until they were two souls existing in one body.

The rising pitch of her moans and sighs, along with the convulsive shudders that ran through her torso let him know that she was nearing orgasm. Though she tried, valiantly, to continue matching him, thrust for thrust, the waves of ecstasy flooding through her distracted and unfocused her, and her action of her hips became sloppy and stuttered. Finally, a sharp cry escaped her, and her back arched sharply. She keened as she came, and the quivering, rhythmic squeeze of her body around his cock lit a fire in his groin.

All the tension left her, and she went limp beneath him, nearly passed out from sheer pleasure. In his body, on the other hand, the tension had just ratcheted up several degrees. Overwhelmed by the intensity of what he was feeling, he buried his head in her neck, limiting the motion of his upper body to a single hand that released and grasped her ass cheek, over and over. Because she was, momentarily, unable to help him, he steadied her body against his increasingly powerful thrusts with one hand wrapped around her shoulder.

As she began to come around, and her hips began to move weakly against him, everything came to a head for him. He felt an electric snap in his center, and in sweet agony, he pushed up on his fists, crashing into her one last time with incredible violence. As his orgasm rushed through him, he held himself rigid above her, every muscle straining, his cock imbedded in her to the hilt. Only his hips moved, rocking in tiny spastic jerks as he shot his semen into her deepest depths. It went on and on; he'd never come so hard or in such quantities in his entire life.

Finally, drained in every definition of the word, all of his muscles loosened save for his arms, which, in gentlemanly instinct, still held his full weight above her smaller form. His penis, still firm enough to stretch her walls, remained deep within her, as he was loath to separate from her and end their mind-blowing connection. He was panting from his exertion, and sweat droplets were collecting in the lines of his body and probably sliding down to drip onto her. His eyes were tightly shut, in an attempt to isolate and hang on to the remnants of his climax, sparking through his system like short circuits in his body's electrical system. Sara, also, was unnaturally still beneath him.

Finally, his eyes drifted open, his vision still blurred by sleep and by sex, and gazed down upon the formerly unattainable object of his deepest yearnings. He stared into her eyes, and waited to wake up.

He could never be sure, later, what caused the first trickle of doubt to enter his brain. Perhaps it was the slightly sticky post coital feeling of his body, something that was too visceral for him to be dreaming it. Maybe it was the fact that he was panting and exhausted and soaked with sweat. Or maybe it was the uncertainty in Sara's eyes, so different from the impudence of his dream vixen. Whatever the cause, as he grew steadily more aware, his mind went numb with the realization that he was really there, she was really there, they were there, in flagrante delicto. His eyes widened and he stared down at Sara, stunned.

They locked eyes for what seemed like hours, but in reality was probably only seconds. His muscles were taut as bowstrings as a whirlwind of emotion swept through him. He felt, briefly, elated at the evidence that she really did desire him. Then he felt used…clearly she'd climbed into bed with him and taken advantage of his lack of awareness. Confusion was there too, in spades; where did she come from, how did she find him, why was she here? But the emotion that began to dominate after he'd had a few seconds to order his thoughts was…anger.

Before she even had a chance to gasp at the withdrawal of his body from hers, he was out of the bed and fumbling through the dresser drawers to find clothing. Grasping the bundle of clothing in front of his chest, he turned once more, still not quite believing that she was here. She was half sitting and clutching his bed sheet to her breasts, vulnerability clear in her posture. Her hair was wild and disheveled, and her eyes were beseeching. He kept his face impassive as he examined her from head to toe, and she shrank into herself as she took in his coldness. Without a single word, he turned on his heel and fled the room.

Fully dressed again, in khaki pants and a white t-shirt bearing the center's logo, he paced his tiny sitting room like a caged bear. His fists clenched and unclenched at his sides, over and over. He felt like throwing things, but he contained himself, though the effort caused his chest to heave with exertion. He could hear soft rustlings indicating that Sara was getting dressed in his bedroom, and he paused for a moment and slammed his eyes shut, trying to banish the image of Sara's naked form from his subconscious.

For a moment, he couldn't help but revel in memories of her body merging with his, of her soft cries as he brought her to orgasm, of the silken heat of her body contracting around him. But the memories became unbearable when other memories interfered. His reminisces of kissing her sweet lips, again and again changed when, in his minds' eye, the figure of a man he respected and loved as a son stood watching, deep pain in his eyes. Memories of the rapture of feeling how wet she was for him as he probed her entrance with his erection were shattered when he imagined a diamond ring on the third finger of the hand that clutched at him. Doubt at her motivations for falling into bed with him as well as horror at his own actions had him pulling at his curly locks in torment.

The whisper of the door opening behind him would have let him know that she was behind him even if his nose, supremely sensitized already to her scent, hadn't alerted him to her natural perfume, like apricots and honeysuckle. He quickly strode to the far side of the tiny space, and, after composing himself as best he could, turned to face her.

"Why are you here?" he demanded harshly. He could see clear evidence of tears on her face, but in his current tempestuous mood, he chose to view them her attempt to manipulate him. His heart hardened further, and his glare intensified. "I…uh…Catherine…um…sent me," she stuttered, trying to control the trembling of her limbs.

Brows lifting in disbelief, "Catherine asked you to seduce me?" he queried icily, contempt dripping from every syllable.

"No!" she cried in anguish…"that was me…I just…I couldn't help it…" She quailed under his cold eyes.

Seconds ticked by in painful silence until it became clear to Sara that he was not going to speak. Gathering up the shreds of her courage, she finally blurted, without pausing for breath, "Catherine sent me to try to talk you into coming back, to let you know how much we all missed you and need you back at CSI. I'm sorry for what happened back there," at this she angled her head to indicate his bedroom, "I have no excuse for my actions. I hope you won't let my mistake prejudice you, because we all want you to come back to CSI, it's not the same without you."She panted, trying to catch her breath after her outburst. She hung her head, not daring to look into his eyes.

Inside, he was boiling, his mind trapped in an angry loop…over and over again, he thought of how Sara, the woman whose mere presence had tormented him for the last several years, had tricked him into betraying a friend. Every time he thought about her crawling into his bed and giving herself to him, Nick's sorrowful visage played before his mind's eye, and his wrath increased another notch. He refused to acknowledge that a large part of his anger came from the fact that while he'd had her physically, another man held her heart.

"Let me see if I understand this correctly," he said, and she flinched at his tone, silky with rage, "my…'friends'…at CSI sent _you_ to ask me to come back." Then he laughed, unpleasantly. "That's actually quite funny," he mused, still in that ghastly fake-cordial tone. He watched her, eyes narrowed, waiting for her to take the bait.

Finally, she raised her eyes in trepidation, though she swiftly looked away when she saw the dark storm raging in his eyes. Finally, she nodded, her lips thin with discomfort. "Yes, that's actually very ironic," he continued, his voice getting quieter and more deadly. At her questioning look, he gave her a humorless smile before driving the knife in; "Ironic because _I left CSI to get away from you in the first place_!"

He took grim satisfaction in the way all color drained from her face and she swayed for a moment as if she would faint. She mastered herself at last though, and, eyes closed, managed, "I…I'm sorry you feel that way. I'll go, since you find my presence unpleasant." She snatched her backpack from the floor and made for the door, as he stood in his living room as if turned to stone, steaming, perversely furious that she was backing off.

The straight, proud line of her back and the stiff way she moved told him she was fighting off tears, and for a moment his love for her nearly broke the bonds of his anger. He almost called her back, intending to apologize and beg her to stay with him instead of going back to her fiancée. But, when she turned, at the door, to face him, his good intentions withered under the ice in her gaze. He drew himself up and quickly rebuilt the walls that her obvious suffering had nearly broken through, so that when she spoke one last time, she would see only disdain on his features.

"I want you to know, that, since you mean so much to Catherine, Nick, Warrick and the others, I would be willing to go back to San Francisco so that they don't have to lose you just because you hate me." Her offer was spoken in a voice devoid of emotion. She waited for his response, only the rigidity of her posture showing how much her icy control was costing her. When he only shook his head, decisively, her hurt and anger escaped her in one last phrase. "Well, god forbid that the iceman actually care about anyone other than his bugs! At least I got a good fuck out of the deal!"

She turned swiftly to hide the tears finally escaping from her eyes, but her parting shot had scored on the already fractured walls that were holding in his anger, and words escaped him that he would rue for the rest of his life. "You goddamn whore!" he breathed, "Get the fuck out of my life!"

His parting shot hit her like the bullet it was, and she seemed to crumple. Her slow, stately escape turned into a rout and she left his quarters, and his life, at a dead run.


	11. Chapter 11

Disclaimer: Not mine, I think I abuse them even more than TPTB do.

A/N: I probably should have mentioned in the last A/N that Grissom would be a little OC in that chapter. The confrontation between Sara and Grissom was the first scene that I ever imagined. I visualized it one day when I was wondering, under what circumstances could Grissom deliberately be cruel to Sara? I decided that being 'tricked' (from his POV) into betraying a friend could drive him to it, as his loyalty to his friends (even Catherine when she's being a b****) is legendary. Heart'sandEye'sDelight and I discussed it and decided it wasn't too out of character, in extreme circumstances. And for anyone who thinks Grissom is incapable of being nasty with other people, watch some Grissom/Ecklie scenes for a while, lol…Ecklie is worse, but Grissom's "silky voice" did not come out of my imagination!

A/N 2: It does amuse me how Grissom gets all the blame and abuse from my reviewers…what Sara did wasn't exactly ethical either, but apparently people can forgive her more easily then Grissom…even on the show, there are scenes where, in my opinion, Sara's behavior is not so good, and Grissom's reasons for not starting a relationship with her are valid, even if we all want GSR in the end. Cut Grissom a break, guys!

A/N 3: Oh, and virtual brownie points to MyKate for guessing the next plot twist…

Chapter 11

Sara had almost two weeks of leave left when she returned to the States from Brazil; for the first time ever, she took the time off. She had gambled, in Brazil, and lost much more than a chance with the man she loved; she'd lost his esteem, along with her own dignity and self-respect. And finally, she'd lost her illusions. Ever since witnessing a sordid interview with a murderous surgeon, she'd fondly believed that he did care for her, even if he refused to act on it. Now, that fantasy was shattered beyond repair by the cruelty of his final words. So, she needed the two weeks time to lick her wounds and try to rebuild her fractured ego.

She spent the time cleaning and reorganizing her apartment. More to the point, she spent her time trying to cleanse Gil Grissom from her heart and soul. Everything that reminded her of him was tossed or given away, from the plant he'd reluctantly sent her years ago, to the Entomology text that had been one year's Christmas offering. She even threw away all the pictures she had that featured him. And throughout the entire two weeks, her burning eyes remained dry.

When she'd run from him that day, she'd half wondered if he would run after her, taking back his harsh words. When there was no sign of him during her hour-long wait at the bus stop, something in her died. The tears that had flowed unchecked down her face during that hour dried up in that moment, and she'd not cried since. Perhaps she no longer had the ability to shed tears over him.

During her break, she received and ignored innumerable voicemails and texts from Catherine and the guys. Though she knew they were dying to find out what kind of success she'd had with her mission, she couldn't face them while "_I left CSI to get away from you__**!" **_resounded in her ears. After a couple of days, she turned her cell phone off.

At last, her leave time had elapsed, and she had to return and face the music. She had no intention of telling her teammates what had actually occurred when she found Grissom. In fact, much of her time over those two weeks had been spent deciding exactly what and how much to tell them. She finally decided to take a page out of Grissom's book…tell them as little as possible.

Fifteen days after her final exchange with Gil Grissom, Sara stood in front of her locker reluctantly garbing herself for her duties. She pulled her bulletproof vest closed over her chest with a wince and zipped it up. Then, she buckled her gun and her badge back onto her utility belt, and stood up. Too fast, apparently, for she swayed for a moment and almost fell over, her vision graying out around the edges. She shut her eyes tightly to block out the spinning of the room, and fought to stay conscious. When the vertigo subsided, she shook the cobwebs out of her head, and, firming her shoulders in determination, strode off to beard her lions, otherwise known as her friends and colleagues.

"Oh, hey, Sara, welcome back!" Greg was the first to greet her, which he did with a friendly hug. When she cried out in pain, he backed off in surprise, however. "What'd I do? Did I hurt you?" he said, pained at the thought.

"No, it's OK, Greg" she rushed to assure him before he raised questions she wasn't willing to answer yet. "I just had a cramp, it's gone now."

"Ooookay, if you say so," Greg answered dubiously.

"I do," Sara smiled wanly at him.

"So, my friend, did you have an…um…interesting…vacation?" Greg hinted.

"Not especially." Sara said dully. "Mostly I just cleaned."

"But what about…" Greg's startled expression made clear what he would have asked, but they'd just entered the break room, and Catherine was clearly waiting, less than patiently, to hand out assignments. Nick and Warrick both sat up sharply upon seeing Sara walk in with Greg, but a gesture and a significant look from Catherine kept whatever they'd planned to say behind their teeth, and they contented themselves with greeting Sara and welcoming her back.

There was another CSI there, a young woman named Ronnie. She just looked confused at the obvious subtext. She'd been with them a few weeks now: a new recruit from days, she'd been transferred in to fill in the empty position on nightshift. They'd all hoped, though she was a sweet girl, that her stay on graveyard would be temporary. Sara sighed internally at the thought that her coworkers were doomed to disappointment. At least Ronnie would be keeping her job, so one of them would be happy.

Catherine stare was too knowing for Sara's liking, so she averted her eyes and moved over to the sink to prepare herself a cup of decaf herbal tea. The pause must have given them all time to get over her return, for when she returned to the table, they were discussing the evidence on a B&E Nick had begun working the previous night.

Sara seating herself was apparently the signal for work to resume; as soon as she joined them at the table, Catherine cleared her throat as a signal for the discussion to end. To Sara's great relief, Catherine paired Sara with herself on a home invasion case in Henderson. That meant she'd be able to report her failure to Catherine privately, and she knew she could rely on Cath to relay the information to the guys and make sure they didn't bother Sara about it.

A few minutes later, Sara sat silently in the passenger seat of Cath's department issue SUV. Catherine had been giving her meaningful looks for several minutes now, but she remained as inscrutable as a stone. Finally, her supervisor's limited store of patience was obviously used up. "All right, Sara, spill!" she commanded.

Playing dumb, Sara inclined her head to her boss. "What do you want to know?"

"Sara! You know damn well what I want to know!"

"I don't read minds, Catherine," Sara replied stubbornly, "You're gonna have to tell me exactly what you want to know." She figured that if she limited her sharing to answering questions, and made Catherine pull the information out of her one word or phrase at a time, Cath would eventually give up on getting details.

Catherine's eyes narrowed speculatively. "Fine. If that's the way you want it. Did you find Gil?"

"Yes."

"And?"

"And, what?" Sara said, purposefully obtuse.

"What did he say? Is he coming back?" Catherine's frustration with Sara's stalling was already evident.

"No, he's not coming back."

"Did he say why?"

"No."

"Did he say ANYTHING?" Catherine's patience was clearly at an end, and Sara could not afford to seriously aggravate her boss, so she relented slightly.

"He said a number of things, Cath, most of which were personal. To sum it up, he has no intention of returning to CSI. If you need more detail, you'll have to go down there and get it straight from the horse's mouth." And with that, Sara folded her lips into a thin line and fell silent.

Catherine gave her a long look, and then her face softened. "He hurt you, didn't he?" she queried perceptively.

Sara fought to keep her face impassive, but her anguish must have shown in her eyes, because Catherine smiled in sympathy and took one hand off the steering wheel for a moment, to pat Sara's hand, letting her off the hook. "Look, Sara, I know we haven't always been the best of friends, but I care about you, and I want you to know that if you feel like talking, I'll be here for you."

"Thanks," Sara mumbled, both touched and embarrassed by Catherine's concern.

"I'll fill in the guys and let them know that you're taking it pretty hard, so they won't bug you about it, OK, Sar?"

"That'd be great, Cath." Sara said gratefully.

Their conversation ended then, for they'd found their crime scene. As the two women documented and collected evidence on their hands and knees, in harmonious silence, Sara paused suddenly, lifting her head like a bloodhound and sniffing the air. "Do you smell that, Cath?"

"Smell what?" Catherine asked, puzzled.

"It smells like…" Sara stopped, frustrated with her inability to characterize what her nose was telling her. She rose up on one knee, testing the air in each direction. "I can't tell what it is, but I know it doesn't belong…Do we have that sniffer gizmo of Warrick's along with us?"

"We do." Catherine affirmed with a smile, and grinning back, Sara trotted out to the SUV to retrieve it.

The mystery odor turned out to be a case breaker for them. As it turned out, what Sara smelled was the musk from a civet cat, and since those animals weren't legal as pets, the first place they checked was the Las Vegas Zoo. The handler in charge of the civet cat exhibit appeared nervous during questioning, and when footprints found at the scene were matched to his work boots, he caved and confessed to breaking into the house to steal back his copy of Guitar Hero from his ex-girlfriend, the homeowner's daughter. It turned out that the break-up had been acrimonious, and the girl had hung onto the video game out of spite. The conclusion of their case was anticlimactic (not to mention stupid), but it counted as a solve, so Catherine was satisfied. And suspicious. But, she kept her suspicions to herself, for the time being.

Four weeks later, Catherine was beginning to sympathize with Grissom over his difficulty in handling Sara. Though the younger woman was always completely respectful and acquiesced to anything Catherine asked her to do, she wouldn't leave! She worked her shift and any overtime Catherine would approve, and then she would clock out and continue working.

Most of the time, Catherine didn't know about this in time to prevent it; having a child meant she generally had to take off, right on time to get Lindsay up and ready for school, and so didn't realize that Sara didn't leave. Once she'd clued into that, she started ordering Sara to go home, and making sure that she did so before Catherine herself left. For a while, she thought that worked. Until one night, she came in three hours early for a meeting with Ecklie and the Sheriff, and found Sara busy cataloguing samples from the day before. She realized then that Sara had obeyed her orders to the letter…gone home, perhaps even ate and slept, and then come right back in.

Catherine finally had to forbid Sara from being on site unless she was clocked in working her shift or approved overtime. The wounded look her subordinate gave her when she handed down this edict almost made her reconsider, but she held firm…if her suspicions were correct, Sara needed much more rest than she was getting.

As for Catherine's suspicions, she'd seen several things since Sara's return that provided evidence for them. Sara, their resident insomniac, fell asleep at work. Anywhere and everywhere. Recently, she'd fallen asleep while looking through the microscope, and nobody noticed until Warrick tapped her on the shoulder, having waited patiently for half an hour for his turn with the equipment. Catherine could have chalked that up to the insane hours Sara was working, however, were it not for the other clues.

Several more times, Catherine had remarked on Sara's remarkable nasal acuity. Sara always seemed to smell things before anyone else realized that there was an odor. And then, Sara moved sharply away and winced anytime anything touched her chest, even softly. And, though Catherine was not in the habit of staring at other womens' breasts, her chest seemed…swollen.

Most telling of all, Sara was taking very good care of herself; their resident fast food and take out queen was bringing healthy, high protein foods in for lunch every day, and avoiding junk food and sweets. And, she'd gone from being the lab leader in caffeine intake every day to drinking only water and herbal teas. Though she wanted to spend all her free time at work, she was apparently getting enough sleep when she was home, because the semi-permanent dark circles under her eyes had disappeared.

The straw that broke the camel's back, for Catherine, was the day that Sara stepped into their crime scene…and promptly stepped back out. The corpse at their crime scene was a couple of days old, and fairly ripe. Catherine had smelled far worse and been able to continue working, and so had Sara, so Catherine followed her out, curious.

When she found her young friend heaving last night's dinner into an empty evidence bag, she decided that enough was enough. After Sara, who'd flushed a brilliant scarlet on being discovered, finished puking and disposed of the 'evidence', Catherine indicated for Sara to follow her around to the back of the house, where there was a patio set, including a table and comfortable benches. Seating herself on the nearest bench and patting the seat next to her, she waited until Sara nervously seated herself on the edge of the bench before springing her attack. Then, Catherine asked, baldly, "Are you going to tell Gil about the baby?"

Sara did a double take, and her mouth gaped open and shut like a fish for a moment. Cath suspected that she was about to deny Catherine's deduction, but the supervisor reached out and cupped Sara's cheek in her palm. "Sara, honey, to someone who's been there, it's obvious that you're pregnant. I'm assuming, given the timing, that Gil's the father. I want you to know that I'm not gonna judge you, whatever you decide. You have every right to tell me to butt out, here, but I want to help you. I can tell you're in a dark place right now, and you need a friend. If you don't want to confide in me, promise you'll at least confide in someone, OK?"

Sara looked into Catherine's aquamarine eyes for a long time, searching for something…and apparently finding it, for all at once, the tears that Sara had thought were gone forever were welling up and pouring down her face like a spring in flood. Even worse, powerful, gut-wrenching sobs escaped her throat, and Catherine held her, stroking her hair as if Sara were her own child, for long, agonizing minutes until Sara's tears were spent.


	12. Chapter 12

Disclaimer: No comment

A/N: Thank you for the effusive reviews, though I don't know how I feel about the threat against my life if I don't get Sara and Griss out of this situation, lol. Have a little faith, folks! Trust me, this wouldn't have been a very good birthday present for N if it didn't have a happy ending ;)

Chapter 12

Grissom swung the sweep net in a wide arc over the patch of Carqueja plants, making two or three passes to make sure his insect-catching rig, constructed of mosquito netting and bamboo, ensnared as many specimens as possible. He then took out his map of this field. Good sampling technique consisted of making samples from as wide a variety of locations as possible, without having to sample every stand of plants in the entire field. To that end, his map was printed out on quadrille lined grid paper, and, when he'd sampled a location, he marked it off with a sharp black X on the grid. Twisting the net to prevent the escape of any trapped insects, he turned and trotted back to his field station to catalog his findings.

An entomology field station was fairly simple; consisting of a folding chair and table, a file box for necessary papers, his camera, laptop and mobile internet hotspot and another box, similar to his old CSI kit, containing all the tools necessary to log, measure and store samples. All of this was ensconced an awning, like a tent with sides made of mosquito netting, that served to protect his materials (and himself) from the sun, rain, wind and mosquitoes. Returning to this home away from home, he set his net on the table and took out his kit, readying his equipment. Finally, he took a seat at the table and untwisted his netting slowly enough that he could see what he'd caught without giving the stunned insects a chance to escape.

The first living specimen he untangled from his net was a brown winged insect with orange stripes over the top quarter of each wing and tiny orange spots all over the brown background: a nice specimen of adult _Heliconius melpomene, _a Postman butterfly. He transferred the struggling insect into a jar containing formaldehyde-soaked cotton balls, to euthanize it. Once its struggles had ceased, he drew it out and using a pair of tweezers, he delicately stretched its wings to their broadest extent and snapped off two pictures of it on his digital camera. Then he measured its wingspan and wing width with his foldable pocket ruler, and finally confirmed his visual species identification by comparing his observations to the known characteristics for this species. Finally, he stored it back in the specimen vial, sans cotton balls, and noted down the discovery on the list of native species for this area.

Returning to his net, he carefully unwound it until the bottom of the net came into view and it became apparent that this sampling effort had netted only one more specimen, a gorgeous black butterfly with a thin white strip on its wingtip, a broader white stripe close to where the wing joined the thorax, and a broad band of cerulean across the center of each wing. He froze for a moment, not even needing to see the distinctive red spots on the underwing to identify it: a Heliconius Sara Longwing Butterfly. Numbly, he dropped the butterfly into its miniature gas chamber and capped it off, setting it aside. Then he let his head fall into his hands.

It had been more than six weeks since he had driven Sara out of his home with his vicious invective, and in that time, he'd had ample opportunities to regret his actions. His work was engaging, at least; now that he was done cataloging night flyers, he got to spend his days in the sun, creating an index of diurnal butterfly species for the center. The center was specifically interested in butterfly pollinators, as there was some evidence that farmland near large populations of butterflies were more productive, but finding out exactly what types of the flying insects could be found here could only add to the cumulative knowledge of the Atlantic rain forest. Yes, his professional life was flourishing, while his personal life was a disaster.

In the past, a lack of social connections had never bothered him much. He'd formed shallow friendships and collected acquaintances, but best friends and lovers were few and far between for Gil Grissom. His friendship with Catherine was more a case of her persistence than his sociability. That had changed, in the last few years. Without even realizing it, his connection to his friends and coworkers had strengthened and deepened.

Though he couldn't say for certain, he suspected that the change had to do with a certain long-legged brunette; since she'd re-entered his life, joining his team, he'd found himself more interested in the people around him, simply because he was interested in her, and in her relationships to the others. Even Greg, who'd been a thorn in his side since the young man had joined the nightshift a year before Sara had, had become more valued by Grissom because Sara cared for and appreciated the younger CSI.

Now, he was suffering the natural consequence of having opened himself to others: heartache. He'd thought the pain was bad when he'd fled here from Las Vegas. It had been enough at that time to haunt his dreams and kill his appetite. But, even then, he'd been able to lose himself in his work, and find enjoyment in the simple rhythms of each task. Now, since she'd found him again, the pain was creeping into every aspect of his everyday life. Every time something reminded him of his loss, the pain in his chest nearly throttled him.

During his waking hours, he replayed that last fight and imagined a thousand ways he could have better handled it. During his rare sleep, his mind tortured him with images of her nude form, with erotic dreams that had an extra tincture of reality now that he knew what it felt like to be enveloped by Sara. The agony of missing her was damaging his ability to function.

Grissom scrubbed his face with his hands in aggravation. Damn the woman! Actually, he sighed, damn himself, because, due to his actions, he **was** damned, for the rest of his solitary life. With a miserable groan, he roughly grabbed the vial with the _Heliconia Sara. _Staring into the tiny death chamber, he couldn't help but think that he'd done the very same thing to his beloved Sara that he'd now be doing to her namesake butterfly; he'd observed her for years, carefully cataloging and making note of her every feature and behavior, and then when she'd threatened to escape his grasp, he'd done his best to keep her pinned in place, a beautiful object for him to love from afar forever. But Sara's courage and spirit were too great for her to be satisfied with the little he was willing to give, and so he'd poisoned her with his bitterness.

The moment she'd fled his casinha, broken and sobbing, he'd wanted to go after her, to caress her tears away and keep her wrapped up safe in his arms forever. But he already knew that this particular species of Sara could not survive in captivity. She had a mind and a fiery independent will of her own. She'd never forgive his brutal words, anymore than he could forgive himself for them. And even if she did forgive him, he'd be certain to hurt her again, before very much time had passed. The best thing he could do for Sara would be to stay far away from her, from now on. She certainly didn't need him in her life.

Sara swung her legs down from the exam table and let them dangle below her. "So doc, what's the verdict?" she said with a cheerfulness she didn't feel.

"You're definitely pregnant, Ms. Sidle. I'd say around six weeks pregnant in fact." Dr. Helen Carpenter was Catherine's OB/GYN, and, when Catherine found out that Sara had not yet had her pregnancy confirmed by a doctor, she'd bullied the younger woman into making an appointment with Dr. Carpenter for the very next day. Catherine herself, at Sara's request, sat in the only other chair in the room not occupied by the doctor.

"Six week and five days," Sara corrected flatly, trying to avoid the glint in Catherine's eyes, knowing she'd just confirmed Catherine's suspicions as to the identity of her baby's father. Catherine had booked her airline and bus tickets during her journey and knew that, exactly six weeks and five days ago, Sara had been on a bus bound for Iracambi.

"Now, I understand…" the doctor paused, delicately, "that there is no partner in the picture to help you through this pregnancy?" At Sara's confirmatory nod, she continued, "My nurse will give you a folder containing a number of informational materials on resources for pregnant woman, and I always recommend that single mothers form a support system of friends and relatives for when they have difficulties…and, make no mistake, you will have difficulties, all new mothers do. That is, of course, presuming you decide to keep the baby. If termination or adoption are choices you are considering, I've included information on organizations that can help you with either of those options, should you need them."

Sara shook her head vehemently; "No, I'm keeping the baby." Out of the corner of her eye, she noticed Catherine trying to hide her enormous sigh of relief.

The doctor also sighed and smiled. "Then you should see my receptionist and set up an appointment for your next prenatal visit. You're a little anemic, so, in addition to the prenatal vitamins with Folate that I mentioned earlier, you should pick up an iron supplement. With this baby taking its nutrients directly from your bloodstream, mild anemia can become a serious condition during pregnancy." She laid an empathetic hand on Sara's shoulder and finished with, "Good luck and congratulations, Ms. Sidle." Sara nodded again, listlessly, and slid off the table to remove her paper exam gown and pull on her street clothes.

Back in the Tahoe, she tried to ignore Catherine's frequent glances and pursed lips. Finally, exasperated with Sara's silence, Catherine asked, tentatively, "Sara, would you like to pick up breakfast before I drop you back at your car?" Knowing that satisfying Catherine's curiosity now would be the best strategy to prevent months of interrogation, Sara reluctantly agreed, and Catherine pulled into a small Mexican restaurant, the very next eatery she saw, as if afraid that Sara would change her mind.

After she'd collected her vegetarian burrito, with black beans, mild salsa, bell peppers and guacamole, and Catherine her chicken burrito with sour cream, jalapenos, and tomatillo salsa, they found a secluded booth to the rear of the restaurant. "So, what do you want to know?" Sara asked shrewdly, as she idly stirred sweetener into her tea, and waited for the barrage.

Catherine, well aware of Sara's aversion to sharing, decided to limit her questions to the most important. "Sara, what are you going to do?"

Sara shrugged wryly. "I don't know. Take care of myself. Have the baby. Figure it out as I go along, I guess."

"Hey, that's all any of us do," Catherine laughed, "I don't care how smart you are or how much you prepare yourself, the only way to learn how to parent is to do it."

They both busied themselves with eating for a few minutes, as Catherine cast about in her head for a tactful way to ask her next question. Finally, Sara laughed at her. "Cath, you've been chewing that same bite for five minutes. I can tell something's on your mind."

"There is something," Catherine admitted, "But I don't want to offend you or have you think I'm pressuring you…" she trailed off.

"You want to know if I'm going to tell the father." Sara stated, carefully avoiding mention of his name. "The answer to that is…yes, eventually. But not yet, and maybe not for a couple of years. I will name him on the birth certificate, and make him the putative guardian of our child if something should happen to me, but right now is a really bad time for me to be telling him about his impending fatherhood."

"I don't understand," Catherine said, knitting her finely arched brows in confusion.

"I…I'm not going to give you the whole sordid tale, but I'll give you the Cliffs Notes version…This baby's biological father feels that…when this child was conceived, I was…taking advantage of him. Our parting was…vitriolic, to say the least. He said, and I quote, 'get the hell out of my life'. He also told me that he left CSI because of me." Throughout Sara's account, her face remained expressionless, but Catherine could tell how much it cost her to speak of it from the tension in her posture and the way her hands gripped the table edge so tightly her knuckles had turned white.

"Jesus, Sara!" Catherine exclaimed, "I believe you, I know you're telling me the truth here, but that doesn't sound like Gil at all! I wonder what's going on in that pointy head of his?" Sara shrugged, but Catherine suspected that she was anything but nonchalant about the situation. Though Catherine suspected the answer, she had to know for sure. "So you're not going to tell him because…?"

Sara sighed, discontentedly. "I'm not going to tell him, Cath, because, given his current low opinion of me, he's likely to think that I got pregnant on purpose, to trap him. He already thinks I tricked him into sleeping with me. So, I'll wait until I've proven to myself and anyone around me that I can do this on my own and have no need of him, and then I'll send him a letter, just letting him know he has a child, that I don't need anything from him, but if he wants to meet the child I'm OK with it."

"Wow, Sara, you've really thought this through." Catherine commented.

"I've been doing nothing but think of it for the last six weeks and five days," Sara grimaced.

Now, the older woman was confused. "You knew you were pregnant right away? How is that possible?"

"No, I didn't know, not until I missed my period 10 days later, but I knew, given the timing of everything, that it was very possible. I've never had unprotected sex before, and, honestly, at the time, I was too caught up in the moment to think of birth control, but I realized within a couple of hours of leaving him what I might have set myself up for." Sara's eyes were moist again, remembering the agony of those hours traveling away from Iracambi, but she blinked the tears back, "and obviously, luck has never been on my side."

"You may change your mind about that someday," Catherine advised, softly. "Being a single mom is about the hardest job on the planet, but it's also one of the most rewarding."

Sara just smiled wistfully at that, and they finished their burritos in companionable silence. Later, as Catherine was letting Sara off at her car, she decided that there was one more thing she wanted to know, so she grabbed Sara's shoulder and motioned for her to stay in the car for a moment. "Sara, one thing I need to know, as your friend and your boss…what do you want the team to know about this?" When Sara looked at her blankly, she placed a motherly hand on Sara's shoulder and reminded her, "Sara, according to CSI regulations, pregnant investigators are confined to the lab. It's a matter of safety for mother and fetus, and it's political as well…this job can be dangerous, and the last thing the sheriff wants is headlines about the wounding or death of a pregnant CSI. Pregnant cops are saddled with desk sitting too, you know. So…the guys are going to know that something is up. What do you want them to know right now?"

Sara frowned, seriously annoyed that she hadn't thought of that. "I didn't realize that pregnant CSIs were lab-bound, though I did know that about pregnant cops. Hmmm…I think I'll tell them, for now, that I've got a physical problem, and my doctor has vetoed fieldwork. I'll let them figure it out on their own later."

"Why not tell them now and save the trouble?" Catherine wondered.

"Because, they know as well as you do where I was six weeks ago…I'd like their idea of my conception date to be a little blurry. It's bad enough that you know who this baby's father is…I don't want to deal with lectures from them."

Catherine mulled that one over for a minute. "Hmm. I guess that makes sense. Look, Sara…" once again she stopped the younger CSI as she turned to exit the car, "I know this is gonna be hard on you…I mean you'll have to do all of the preparation for this baby by yourself, buying furniture, learning about childcare, finding an overnight sitter, etcetera. I want you to know that you can use me…as a resource, as a shoulder to cry on, whatever you need. Or, if you need any money, I'd be happy to give you an interest-free loan…"

This time, Sara reached out. Catching her supervisor's hand in both of her own, she said, "I'm good for money, trust me…but as for the rest, thank you. Thank you so much, and I'll certainly take you up on your offer sooner or later. After all, you're the only parental role model I have…in the area," she added hastily, before Catherine could ask about her own mother. "So, again, thank you Cath," she finished softly, "It means so much to me, to have someone I can count on. You don't know how rare that is…"

Cath noted what Sara carefully did not say, that Sara could not count on the baby's father to be there. She smiled gently, and used her free hand to pat the hands that were still clasping her own. "Get some rest, Sar. I'll see you tonight." Sara smiled, withdrew her hands from Catherine's, and stepped back to allow Catherine to pull away. As Catherine hit her turn signal to exit the parking lot, she looked back in her rear view mirror. Sara hadn't moved from where she'd stepped away from the car. She stood silently, one hand casually resting in her jeans pocket, the other unconsciously cradling her stomach. When Catherine Willows pulled out and eased into the Vegas traffic, that image, of Sara Sidle, pregnant and alone, stayed with her for a long time afterward.


	13. Chapter 13

Disclaimer: If they were mine, there would have been geekbabies a long time ago.

A/N: This chapter is the beginning of what most of you have been begging for. How am I doing, N?

Chapter 13

Life for Sara fell into a sort of routine after that. Catherine kept her secret at work, and, with her supervisor looking out for her, her symptoms remained under control. Although she processed evidence for all of the others, Cath was careful to keep any particularly odiferous evidence away from her, so there were no repeats of her episode of nausea at work. And, since her supervisor enforced a ban on any overtime for her, she was getting a lot of sleep for a change, the pregnancy fatigue easily overcoming her habitual insomnia. Therefore, she no longer fell asleep at work. Her teammates knew something was up, but they also knew better than to grill Sara about it; not only would questioning her be futile, they might ignite the volatile Sidle temper, which all reasonable men feared, and so they let it go, but watched over her carefully.

Though Sara was aware of, and flattered by the way Nick, Warrick and Greg, not to mention Cath, looked out for her, she still kept to herself, mostly. Occasionally, Nick or Greg would try to tempt her onto an outing with them, but Sara always declined graciously. Her knee-jerk reaction to emotional pain was to isolate herself, and though the pain of Grissom's rejection had diminished somewhat, she did carry a constant reminder of it around with her. If it weren't for her current supervisor, Sara would have spent all of her time when she was away from work reading pregnancy and parenting literature alone in her apartment. Cath, however, wasn't going to let that happen. And, the older woman never gave Sara a chance to say no.

When Sara was 15 weeks pregnant, Catherine ran into her in the locker room before shift. When the younger woman lifted her arms to slip on a different shirt, having spilled catsup on her previous one during a solitary, pre-shift dinner out, Catherine noticed that her pants were held shut over her expanding belly by the makeshift method of a safety pin, and even that was evincing some strain. With a sentimental smile, she made a decision, and in typical Catherine fashion, implemented it immediately. "Sara, can you come see me in my office after shift, please?" Sara looked at her askance, but nodded in acquiescence.

Fortunately, the shift was relatively uneventful, allowing Catherine to clock out on time. She'd called her mother and asked her to get Lindsey to school, claiming errands that she needed to run, and so, like a spider in her web, she waited to catch Sara after shift ended. When the pregnant CSI slipped into Catherine's office, she grinned, and then stood, grabbing her purse. "Come on, Sara. Get your things. We've got work to do."

Extremely puzzled, Sara trailed after her, and slowly removed her own wallet and keys from her locker. "What work, Cath? I thought I was banned from overtime." Wisely, Cath stayed silent, waiting until Sara had joined her in her Tahoe and she'd pulled out into traffic so that Sara was effectively trapped before she answered.

"We're going shopping, Sara," she finally revealed with a grin. When Sara glared at her helplessly, she laughed. "Sara, if I'd told you back there that I was going to drag you out and make you shop for maternity clothes, would you have even gotten in this car?"

"Definitely not!" Sara sulked.

Catherine sighed in exasperation. "How long did you think the safety pin solution was gonna work, Sar?"

"I would have gone shopping eventually," Sara sighed, "But I didn't want to take that step yet…it makes all of this seem…" she trailed off, searching for the right words to explain her dilemma.

"It makes it all seem too real?" Catherine suggested. When Sara nodded, shortly, Catherine groaned. "Sara, it is real, and you need to start dealing with the situation. Within a very little time, you would be trying to get dressed one day, and found that nothing you tried would fit, even with a safety pin. Then, what would you do?"

"I'm dealing with it!" Sara insisted, defensively. "I'm eating right, taking my vitamins and doing my research."

"I know you are," Catherine softened, "but you have yet to admit your pregnancy to anyone, other than me and your OB/GYN, and refusing to buy maternity clothes is a symptom of that…it's as if, if you wear clothing intended for pregnant women, you're sharing your condition with the world."

Sara was quiet for several seconds. Finally, "you may be right," she admitted.

"Sara...," Catherine paused, struggling for words to express what she sensed about her young friend. "Does carrying Gil's baby make you unhappy?" she finished, finally, avoiding Sara's eyes.

Sara laughed, ruefully. "Maybe it should," she said, "but I can't help but love this baby already, in spite of who its father is…and before you ask, no, I wouldn't want to change its paternity, just the way it came about. I never really thought much about children before this happened, but when I did, I never imagined having children with anyone but him."

Surprised at Sara's openness, Catherine risked a glance at her. The younger woman was curled up and leaning against the car door, looking sad. "You've loved Gil for a long time, haven't you?" she wondered.

"Yeah…" Sara breathed. "I think I've loved him since I met him, though I didn't realize it for a long time."

Empathizing with the hollow despair she heard in her friend's voice, Catherine let the subject drop, even as she turned into the parking garage for the mall. Sara was alone by her own choice, trapped by her conviction that Grissom didn't want her. Catherine suspected that Sara was mistaken in that, but she'd given a promise several weeks ago that she would not tell Gil Grissom about his impending fatherhood, and so she wouldn't. 'God, Gil,' she growled to herself, 'you really screwed up this time.'

Sara's appearance at work the next day, wearing softly flowing garments that accentuated her growing baby bump rather than masking it, caused a sensation. Most people just stared, but those that knew and cared about her reacted more positively. Judy nearly bounced in place, squeaking in excitement, and demanding to know when Sara was due. When Sara had gracelessly escaped that situation, she had to run the gauntlet of lab techs and CSIs on her way to the break room. Most of the techs nodded and waved, though their eyes lingered on her burgeoning belly, but her fellow CSIs were another matter altogether.

Greg was the first to encounter her, and, in typical Greg fashion, blurted out his thoughts with no pause to filter them first. "Wow, Sara! You're pregnant! I didn't even know you were seeing anybody!" At Sara's withering glare, he reconsidered his words swiftly. "I'm sorry, Sara, that's none of my business…well, uh…congratulations?"

Nick and Warrick wisely did not repeat Greg's mistake. They approached her quietly and each drew into a hug. "You Ok, girl?" Warrick whispered, as he wrapped his powerful arms around her. She nodded with a teary smile, and Warrick let her go, only to have Nick sweep her up in a gentle bear hug.

Then he held her back at arms length and whispered "Is there anyone whose ass I need to kick, little sis?" Sara laughed, and shook her head, feeling warmed inside by his concern. "OK, Sar, but I want you to call on me anytime you need help, honey. I've got a lot of sisters, and I've done the uncle thing over and over…I've got it down now. I hope you'll let me be an honorary uncle to your little one."

Touched and overwhelmed, Sara just hugged him fiercely. Finally, she drew back, wiping one hand over her watery eyes, and laughingly excused herself, "hormones, sorry guys." All of them smiled, understanding, and Warrick and Greg both repeated Nick's sentiment. Beaming, Sara said, "This baby's gonna have more honorary uncles and aunts than real ones. Thanks, guys."

At that, they let the subject drop, instinctively knowing that Sara couldn't handle much more. But they had accomplished their goal...Sara Sidle now knew that she was not alone in this, and for the first time, she thought she might actually be getting excited about having this baby.

Sara had occasion many times over the next months to be grateful for her friends. Now that they understood the reasons behind Sara's withdrawal, each of them took a leaf from Cath's book and insisted on drawing Sara out of her shell. Warrick dragged her out to a (non-smoking) jazz clubs and Vegas shows on what could have been lonely Friday evenings. Nick insisted on feeding her…constantly. If he could entice her away from the lab on a lunch break, he'd drag her somewhere nicer than their typical drive-thru, and then pay the check for both of them despite Sara's arguments. If she refused to leave, insisting on working through lunch, an hour later he'd appear with a complete meal that was just to her taste, packaged for take out. Greg set out to keep her in stitches; he'd send her pregnancy jokes in her e-mail, bought her silly joke presents like chocolate covered pickles and ordered baby clothing off the internet with logos like 'iSleepy: there's a nap for that' and 'I'm living proof that geeks have sex.' She sometimes marveled at how well her friends knew her tastes, and compared Grissom's obliviousness unfavorably.

It had taken her friends no time at all to figure out that there was no father in the picture; whether they deduced who her child's male parent might be or not, they kept their suspicions to themselves and determined that between the three of them (and Catherine) that Sara would not lack for any of the positive attention that pregnant, married women typically get. Catherine accompanied her to all of her pre-natal appointments, and so when an ultrasound technician first introduced her to her son via a fuzzy computer image, she had someone to laugh with through her tears. The boys, between the three of them, made sure that her weekends were never spent alone. So, when she burst into tears at finally feeling a tiny fluttery kick inside of her, Nick and Warrick were there to marvel and to beg to try and feel the baby move. All of the moments where she could have been miserable and alone were filled with kindness and fellowship.

They helped her move out of her tiny studio apartment over a couple of weekends, and into a two-bedroom condo. And then, they went even further. They convinced her to spend the weekend at Nick's condo so that they could 'paint her second bedroom without exposing her to the paint fumes'. Sara suspected that they were up to something, but at this point, she'd given up on fighting their brotherly generosity, and so she went along with their ruse, laughingly threatening to remove their abilities to father children if they painted her nursery black with glow in the dark constellations, as Greg had enthusiastically proposed. Nothing could have prepared her for what she found when they allowed her back into her home two days later.

At this point, her pregnant belly preceded her everywhere she went. She was six months pregnant, and looked more, with the large baby bump contrasting sharply with her slim frame. When she eased herself out of her car with some difficulty, Greg came bounding out the door, with a long strip of black cloth in his two hands. At Sara's raised brows, he explained, "blindfold."

"Greg!..." she protested, but Greg wasn't taking no for an answer.

"I'll keep you safe, Sar…trust me. Just humor me and wear the blindfold, we want you to get the full effect at once, OK?"

Sighing in resignation, she allowed Greg to adjust the cloth around her eyes. Then, to make sure she couldn't see him, he made a number of arcane and obscene gestures in front of her face. Satisfied with her lack of reaction, he took both her hands and, walking backwards himself, led her into her home, and then into the baby's room. Then, once all of her friends and colleagues were gathered around to see her reaction, he untied the blindfold behind her head and let it drop. Sara looked around and her jaw dropped.

Her friends had taken the colors she'd chosen for her new home, and carried them into the nursery by using pastel versions of each. The walls were a paler version of the sage green found in the rest of the home, accented in white. In the center of the room stood an ornate sleigh bed style crib, in mahogany, with its cloth accessories in pale red watered silk, rich with embroidery. A matching dresser with a changing table surface on top stood in one corner, while a mahogany rocking chair stood in the other. Every baby supply imaginable was stashed here and there, from diapers to receiving blankets to a closet full of gender-neutral infant clothing (since Sara had sworn Catherine to secrecy on the baby's sex). The finishing touch, as far as Sara was concerned, however, was the insects; everywhere, insects frolicked, from a band of floating butterflies in soft gold and pale scarlet above the baseboard, to embroidered dragonflies on the watered silk bedspread. There was even a stuffed ladybug and grasshopper staring beady-eyed at her from the crib.

It occurred to her that she should be angry, perhaps, that her friends had decorated a nursery for an entomologist's child. She did throw one accusing glance Catherine's way, but Cath shook her head vigorously, saying, "I didn't say a thing, Sara." Sara returned her gaze to the beautiful nursery her friends had devised for Grissom's son, and decided that what she felt definitely wasn't anger…it was love. Boundless love, for this group of friends that had banded together and conspired to fill the empty hole in her life. Smiling through the tears running down her face, she turned to Greg, Cath, Nick and Warrick and held her arms open wide. As the four of them enfolded her in their arms, she realized that she had a family, for the first time in twenty-five years.

"Cath," Sara asked, awkwardly folding her hands in front of her bulging belly, "I, uh, I have a favor to ask you…"

Catherine looked up from a pile of case reviews and smiled, briefly. "Sure Sar. If, of course, this isn't about your maternity leave…you know I have no power to overrule HR on that, you have to start your leave at least two weeks prior to your official due date, so tonight is definitely your last…" But Sara held up a hand to halt the flow of words.

"I know, Cath, I'm done with that battle. This is about something else."

"Oh! Well, then, I'm at your service, my dear. What can I do for you?"

Sara's mouth moved silently for a moment, as if unsure how to begin, but then, laying one hand firmly over the spot on her abdomen that her son had just kicked, she gathered her courage and asked, "Do you have any pictures of Grissom that I could borrow and copy?"

Cath's brow furrowed, as she said, "Sure, but don't you have several yourself?"

Under Catherine's wondering gaze, Sara flushed. "I sort of threw them all away when I first came back from Brazil, but I was thinking that my son has a right to know what his father looks like, you know?"

Cath smiled, gently. "Sure I do, and I'll copy all the pictures I have and get them to you. In the meantime, I'm not supposed to tell you this, but there's a baby shower waiting for you in the break room."

Sara rolled her eyes, but then laughed. "If you aren't supposed to tell me, why are you telling me?"

Cath smirked. "Because I know you would kill us if you didn't have prior warning."

Sara chuckled and shook her head. "It's scary how well you guys know me."

"That's what friends are for, Sar. Now, am I still picking you up Thursday morning for your pre-natal appointment?" Cath queried.

"Sure. It's a date," Sara announced, flippantly, and then turned grimly away, marching off to the break room as if to an executioner. Cath laughed to herself…Sara was so against being the center of attention. She needed to learn that this sort of thing wasn't really about the mother, it was about her friends, and their desire to celebrate the forthcoming birth and share their excitement with her.

On their way home from Sara's appointment, Cath asked her, "Are you getting excited?"

"Excited, nervous, scared, thrilled…you name it, I'm feeling it," Sara admitted softly.

"So, the doctor says the baby could come anytime, that's a good thing, right? You were never all that good at waiting."

"I suppose," Sara said, looking out the window. She'd been like this since Catherine picked her up, and the older woman was worried. Sara seemed sad and distracted.

"So, did the guys keep you from being too bored this week?" she probed, seeking the source of her friend's gloom.

At that, Sara gave a genuine smile. "Yeah, Nick and Warrick made me watch the Steelers/ Packers game, and Greg did his best to drive me crazy with baby name suggestions."

Catherine chuckled, saying, "And what is Mr. Sanders proposing now, Gregor? After Gregor Mendel, the father of modern genetics?" Greg had been teasing Sara relentlessly with baby name suggestions. He insisted that a child of geeks should be named after geeks, so he kept coming up with names relating to famous scientists. Sara had had no peace from him since she'd given up the baby's gender to the team.

Sara laughed. "Nope, today he suggested Werner and Max."

Amused, Catherine guessed, "He's on to quantum theory then? Heisenberg and Planck?"

"Yeah," Sara grinned, as the pulled up to the curb outside Sara's condo. "I can't convince him that I already know what I'm naming the baby."

"Yeah, well, until you tell everyone what name you've chosen, he'll never give up, you know."

"I know," Sara smiled, wistfully, "but I enjoy his company, so he can propose baby names to his heart's content."

"Oh, um, Sara, before you go…" Catherine cleared her throat; "there's something in the glove compartment for you."

"What is it?" Sara asked, even as she opened the glove box and pulled out the gift bag ensconced therein.

"Something you wanted…I took the liberty of choosing the packaging of it myself, though."

Sara reached into the bag and pulled out what appeared to be a golden picture frame, attached to the front of a small photo album, replacing the album cover. In the frame was something she'd seen so rarely that she treasured the memories of every moment in which she had seen it: a smiling Gil Grissom. In this picture he'd apparently been caught unawares; in posed photos, he always wore an uncomfortable, thin-lipped smirk, but this was a full-bodied grin, the kind that made her knees turn to water. The photo had been cropped so that the setting could not be determined, but it had probably been taken at a crime scene, if the darkness around him was anything to go by. In the picture, his curls were loose and wind-tossed, and he wore his typical CSI garb of a dark, long-sleeved shirt, pants and CSI vest. What stood out most about the image, besides his cheerful grin, was the lambent glow of his blue eyes, caught in just the right lighting.

Sara sniffed, trying to hold back her reaction to Catherine's thoughtful gift, and flipped the album open, to see page after page of her memories recreated in living color: Gil Grissom at his desk, peering up over the rim of his glasses, laughing with Jim and the gang at Frank's diner, gazing myopically at a bug in a clear jar, squatting down with tweezers in one gloved hand, brow knit in concentration, collecting evidence. Every picture brought back a flood of memories, good and bad, and all at once, Sara slapped the album shut, and shoved it back into the bag with unnecessary force. Then, composing herself, she turned to Catherine, thanking her tonelessly for the gift, before slipping awkwardly out of the car and waddling to her front step.

Cath wasn't offended by Sara's reaction, but she was concerned. In spite of everything her friends could do to keep her from feeling alone, somehow a pall of solitude surrounded her young friend. With a despondent sigh, Catherine admitted what she'd somehow known all along…no matter how much her friends did to keep her company and cheer her up, the absence of one particular person was going to limit their effectiveness. As she watched Sara, round-bellied and slump-shouldered, let herself into her condo, she realized that, though her friends could be there for her, in the end, they always had their own homes and families to return to, and Sara had no one. As she sorrowfully watched her friend slip inside and out of her sight, Catherine came to a decision.

As had become his habit, Gil Grissom ate his dinner of plantains, beans, rice and peppers in brooding silence. Over the last eight months, his new colleagues had learned how futile it was to attempt to draw him out. He did his work flawlessly each day, joined them for meals each morning and evening, but only spoke when spoken to, and retired to his casinha at the earliest opportunity each evening. Tonight was no exception; as soon as the last grain of rice disappeared down his throat, he stood, carried his dish to the wash tub and made his solitary way to the building he'd called home for nearly a year now.

Entering the small cottage, Grissom sighed in relief, glad to be alone. His life had effectively ended eight and a half months ago, and feigning interest in the happy lives and fulfilling work of his colleagues at the center was almost more than he could bear. At least he'd brought his rebellious heart under control, or so he thought. The nightly visions starring Sara as his dream lover had grown less and less frequent over time, as his memories lost the sharpness of fresh events. He'd also given up the self-castigation; what was done could not be undone. The hardest pain to deal with had been that of lost opportunity, and he dealt with that by not dealing with it; he shoved those sorts of thoughts into a deep corner of his mind and refused to think about them. What he didn't realize, was that in blocking off all of the feelings associated with Sara in his own mind, he was handicapping himself; he was becoming what many had erroneously accused him of being in the past: an emotional eunuch, incapable of feeling. He could no longer relate much to other humans at all, and his current colleagues disliked him, finding him cold and unapproachable.

His former coworkers in Las Vegas would not even have recognized the man that had been their boss, mentor and friend. His brow seemed drawn into a permanent frown these days, his lips turned downward perpetually, and his face overall bore a stern expression at all times. It was only in the privacy of his own home that he allowed that expression to relax into softer lines; if his fellow researchers ever saw him then, they would describe him as sad.

He'd developed a routine over the last several months that allowed him to keep his sanity over the long hours of loneliness each night. He stripped off his clothing as soon as he entered, showered mechanically, and changed into a pair of boxers and a lightweight white t-shirt to accommodate the rainforest heat and humidity. Then, he checked his e-mail, and dealt with any bills or correspondence that was pending. After that, he'd brew himself a cup of hot chamomile tea in his kitchenette, and sit in the brocade armchair in his living room, reading a book from his collection of Shakespeare or poetry. He found that reading the pain of others, expressed in beautiful words, was cathartic for him. It allowed him to forget his own pain for a while. Then, he'd retire to bed to stare at the ceiling for hours before he was finally able to sleep.

Tonight, he followed the steps of his routine with even less enthusiasm than usual. The assistant director of the center, Pippa, had called him into her office this morning before he'd started work, and informed him that she was concerned. He was not integrating well here, she said, and she was worried about him. She'd asked what had happened to the quiet, but fairly congenial man she'd first invited to work here at Iracambi. He'd just stared at her, speechless with shock, and so she'd sighed and thanked him for his time, effectively dismissing him. But her words had echoed within him all day. Had he really changed so much? Was he really so unpleasant to be around? Grissom was used to being thought of as an odd duck, but he wasn't used to being actively disliked by his colleagues (other than Conrad Ecklie, of course), and the very thought disturbed him. Tonight he was wondering if it might be time for a change of venue. Maybe he should find a new place to work, devoid of the memories that haunted this one.

He brooded through his shower and change of clothes, and when he sat down and opened his laptop, he'd nearly decided that he was going to move on. To that end, he logged in to his e-mail account. An entomologist of his stature received job offers fairly regularly, and he was sure he'd saved some of the more promising ones in his e-mail account. First, he flipped through new e-mails, discarding offers of organic gardening magazines, penile enhancement, and the opportunity to chat with hot young Russian babes. He skimmed through the Center's monthly newsletter for anything that applied to him, and then recycled that too. Finally, he began flipping through the saved e-mails of job offers. As he was perusing a missive from the University of Illinois at Chicago, he heard the chime that indicated in incoming message, so, flagging the e-mail to be read later, he switched over to his incoming messages.

One new message blinked at him in sharp black font, contrasting with the faded gray of previously viewed messages. He drew in a sharp breath at the sender address: cwillows lvpd . gov. With shaking hands, he drew the cursor up to the blinking black line and, feeling as if the Sword of Damocles was poised over his head, clicked on the link. The message was short and to the point, and absolutely shattered his composure:

Gil,

If you love Sara, you should come home, now.

Catherine


	14. Chapter 14

Disclaimer: Here: geekbaby. CBS: no geekbaby. Obviously I am not CBS.

A/N: Thank you all for your generous reviews! We're in the homestretch now, and I hope you all enjoy this next offering.

Chapter 14

As he debarked from the plane, Grissom debated with himself. Should he go straight to his hotel to shower, change and otherwise make himself presentable? Maybe even catch a nap? He was rumpled from the 12-hour flight, and scruffy from 24 hours without a shave. His anxiety had kept him from sleeping, for the most part, in the last 48 hours. The problem was, he wasn't sure how urgent it was that he see Sara. Upon reading Catherine's e-mail for the third time, he'd charged down to the main building of the Center to beg the use of the Center's cell phone, the only outgoing phone line he had access to, since he'd turned in his departmental cell phone upon leaving CSI.

Calling Catherine had enlightened him not one iota, however. She'd been cool with him, which was deserved, he supposed, but all she would tell him was what was in the e-mail. When, out of frustration he demanded to know why she was doing this to him, she'd replied icily that she was not particularly concerned about _**him**_, and only he could decide what to do.

It was simple, she'd said. If he loved Sara, he should come back, and if he didn't, he should stay away. Nothing he said was able to convince her to explain her cryptic message, so he'd hung up in frustration and buried his head in his hands. Twenty minutes of silent deliberation clarified only one thing: he did love Sara, and the vague nature of Cath's message, as well as the fact that she'd gone to the trouble to contact him at all, frightened him. What if Sara were ill, or in danger? What if he hesitated to take action here, and lost his chance to see her ever again? What if she needed him, and he wasn't there? The more he speculated on things that could have prompted Cath's message, the more apprehensive he became.

So here he was, getting off a plane in Las Vegas with nothing other than a carry-on bag and the clothes he stood up in. Once he'd made his decision that night, he'd gone straight to Pippa to beg for help…the next bus out wouldn't arrive for 16 hours, and he didn't know how much time he had. The assistant director was startled at his claim of a family emergency, having not even suspected him of having earthly connections after all this time, but his desperation must have been obvious. With a kindness he didn't deserve, she offered to drive him to Rio de Janeiro herself, that very evening. So, he'd thrown absolute essentials into a bag, and once they were on the road had used his portable Internet connection to reserve the next flight from Brazil to Las Vegas. He'd also reserved a hotel room in Vegas, since his townhouse had sold months ago.

As he walked to the cabstand to hail a cab, he decided that he should at least talk to Catherine first, to try to get a feel for whether he should go to Sara now, or wait until he was more presentable and alert. It was nearly midnight, so, as he slipped into the back seat of the orange cab, he told his Hindustani driver to take him to the LVPD-CSI building. Then, he closed his eyes, to attempt a twenty-minute nap on the drive over.

The halls of CSI seemed unusually deserted, even for this time of night. He actually managed to make it from the front desk, where an ecstatic Judy supplied him with a guest pass, to Catherine's office without running into anyone. To his disgust, Catherine's office was also empty. Figuring it must be a hectic night, he set out to explore, and see if he could find anyone who might know about Sara.

Out of a mild sense of nostalgia, he strolled over to his old office. He was curious to see who might have taken it over. To his astonishment and discomfort, he found the office empty and unchanged. Why hadn't anyone jumped at the chance of office space? He could see where Catherine might not have wanted to bother to move all of her stuff from her office into his, but most members of the night shift did not have offices of their own. Nick, Greg, Warrick or Sara ought to have moved in here. It was pretty embarrassing to find his old space preserved just as he left it, like some sort of shrine.

Closing the door on his old office with an unsettled feeling, his head shot up at the sound of quick footsteps approaching. To his great relief, he saw Nick jogging down the main corridor. Just as Grissom noticed Nick, the younger man looked up and froze. Grissom smiled weakly, uncertain of his welcome, for Nick's eyes were wide with some indefinable emotion. A few moments later, his fears were put to rest, when Nick grabbed him up in an enormous bear hug.

"Griss! Oh my god, it's great to see you!" Nick exclaimed into Grissom's shoulder. Gratified, if not a little embarrassed by his former student's exuberant welcome, Grissom gently pushed him back, patting him on the shoulder and smiling.

"It's great to see you, too, Nick," he admitted. Now that he had put a little distance between himself and the younger man, he couldn't help but glance at Nick's left hand. No ring. That doesn't mean anything, though, he told himself resolutely; Some people prefer long engagements these days, so the lack of a wedding ring might just mean that he and Sara aren't married YET.

He'd had a lot of time to think, in the months since he'd last seen Sara. For a long time, he'd been angry with her for putting him in the position of 'the other man', especially when her fiancée was a man he respected and cared about. After his anger had finally cooled, he'd realized that he might not have given Sara enough credit; everything he knew about her told him she was a highly ethical person. So, if she'd chosen to sleep with him, perhaps her engagement to Nick had ended? Or, perhaps, though he couldn't see how, he'd misunderstood what he'd seen? Either way, he'd blown it, big time. The lack of a band on Nick's finger now both delighted him, and started a sick churning in his gut, at the thought of how poorly he'd treated Sara. Still, he told himself, if they're still engaged, I'll visit, apologize to Sara for my harshness, congratulate them both, and move on.

All of these thoughts took only moments to run through his brain, and when he looked up from Nick's hands into Nick's guileless eyes, he could tell his thoughts had gone undetected. "Man, Griss," Nick continued, "I'm sorry we're not all here to see you…most of the staff, including the techs are out collecting evidence—we're working a gang shootout, and there's so much evidence to recover that we even have Hodges out there marking bullet holes. I'm just here to drop off evidence and refill my kit, and then I'm heading back to the scene. What a night to be without both Cath and Sara, I tell you…" and Nick shook his head in resignation.

Unconcerned about any of the information Nick was imparting save for the last, Grissom asked sharply, "Why aren't Cath and Sara here, Nick? Isn't something like this 'all hands on deck'?"

Nick's head shot up as if in realization, and his nostrils flared as his eyes widened. "Oh Shit! Griss, what are you doing here? You need to get to the hospital! Sara needs you!"

Grissom's face lost all color, even as Nick grabbed him by the shoulder of his jacket and began dragging him down the hall. At first, stunned, he let himself be manhandled. After a few seconds, though, he planted his heels and forced Nick to stop. "Nick! What the fuck is going on?" He demanded. His stress was evident to his young friend, for he'd never heard Grissom use the f-word in seven years of working with him.

Nick regarded him for a moment and finally realized that his former mentor really was in the dark about Sara's situation. "Griss, I can't answer your questions, it's not my place. All I can tell you is, she's in the hospital right now, Cath's keeping her company, and, if what I suspect is true, you are the person that should be with her and helping her through this, not Cath."

Nick's insinuation struck Grissom with the force of a blow, and he searched the Texan's eyes for antipathy. Did Nick know? If he did, why wasn't he angry? His questions would have to go unanswered, however, because Nick was speaking once again.

"Look Griss. I don't know exactly how much you already know. But, if knowing that Sara needs you isn't enough, than perhaps you should stay away?" Nick averted his eyes, embarrassed at calling out his former supervisor, but in the end, Sara's wellbeing came first, so he squared his shoulders and looked again into Grissom's bewildered blue eyes. "I can take you to her, if you want to go, but Griss…if you hurt her…" he trailed off, unable to think of a punishment harsh enough for such an infraction.

"I…Nick, I care a great deal for Sara," he admitted softly, "I'd like to see her, to see if I can help her. I know I can't walk away if she needs me."

Dropping his head in relief, Nick slapped Grissom lightly on the shoulder and said mysteriously, "Well, what are we waiting for? Time is of the essence here…you don't want to miss the big event…" And without explaining his cryptic statement, he turned and trotted down the corridor towards the parking lot. Grissom shook his head, annoyed and befuddled by Nick's odd comment, but followed Nick without protest.

Nick filled up the time it took to drive to Desert Palms with breezy gossip about the cases and people of CSI. Grissom listened quietly, though he did notice that Nick carefully avoided mentioning Sara. After what seemed like forever, Nick skillfully navigated the enormous SUV through the crowded lanes leading to the hospital, and eventually pulled up in front of a building that Grissom had never had the occasion to visit, in his career as CSI: The Desert Palms Women's Center.

Nick pulled up to the curb to let Grissom out. "I'm sorry I can't take you all the way there, but the parking is miles away, and I really have to get back to my crime scene…" Grissom could tell that Nick was truly remorseful over abandoning his friend here without a guide.

"It's OK, Nick," he smiled, to ease his friend's conscience. "I'm sure I can just ask at the reception desk to find out where Sara might be."

"Thanks Griss. Hopefully I'll see you later. Oh, and Congratulations!" Nick pulled away before Grissom could question that last, and Grissom stared after Nick in perplexity. At last, he turned and trudged through the automatic doors.

As he waited for the receptionist, cheerfully clad in pink scrubs with teddy bears dotting them, to acknowledge him, he fretted. If Sara was in a women's center, that meant she was here for a female problem, right? Horrific possibilities floated through his brain. At the top of his mental list were the gynecological cancers: breast, ovarian, cervical, and uterine. Sara was a little bit young for those, but stranger things had happened. Before his dread could climb out of control, however, the receptionist ended her phone call and turned to him with an irritatingly perky manner.

"Hello, sir! Welcome to the Desert Palms Women's Center! How may I help you?" If it weren't so transparently part of her personality, he would've found himself put off by her overt cheeriness. As it was, her exuberance drew an unwilling smile from him.

"Hi…um, Anna," he greeted, reading her name tag, "I'm here to visit Sara Sidle?"

"One moment, sir, let me just look her up for you. Oh, here we are. Room 216. Make sure you knock before entering, sir, some women don't want visitors until afterwards…" and she trailed off as she was distracted by the ringing of her desktop phone again. "Oh, forgive me sir, I need to get this. Do you think you can find the room on your own?" Not even waiting for his nod, she picked up the receiver, and spoke, "Desert Palms Women's Center, how may I help you?"

Grissom nearly snarled in frustration; was there some conspiracy today to keep him in the dark about Sara's condition? What situation was Sara in that visitors might be unwelcome until afterwards? Was she in the middle of a medical procedure of some kind? Realizing that he'd probably find out faster just by finding room 216, he turned to the elevator bank across the way. The two hundreds were almost certainly on the second floor, so he made his way to the nearest elevator and pressed the button. When it opened, spilling out a doctor in surgical scrubs and a pair of elderly ladies chattering excitedly, he slipped inside and pressed the button for the second floor.

After exiting the elevator, he searched the walls for signs and discovered that room 216 was to his right. He started down the cheerfully painted yellow hallway, but after a half a dozen steps, came to a horrified stop. Though he'd never been here, the décor in this area was unmistakable; dioramas of storks carrying cloth bundles and tumbling babies made his location obvious: he was in the maternity ward.

"No…" he breathed. Sara was…pregnant? Even as he stood like a stunned ox, the clues connected in his head…Catherine saying he should come, but only if he loved Sara, Nick confirming Cath's statement, and further telling him 'congratulations,' the nurse saying that Sara might not want visitors until after…meaning after delivery. He swayed in place as all his blood rushed south, emptying his skin of color. His eyes closed against the rush of memory:

_His orgasm rushing through him, he held himself rigid above her, every muscle straining, his cock imbedded in her to the hilt. Only his hips moved, rocking in tiny spastic jerks as he shot his semen into her deepest depths. It went on and on; he'd never come so hard or in such quantities in his entire life._

He felt like a fool. It was so obvious, in retrospect. He'd been fully aware of the feel of her bare, wet skin around his equally bare penis, but the drama that came afterwards had pushed that vital little fact right out of his head. He'd been very careful to avoid unprotected sex his whole life, so this oversight was…huge. The pregnancy was not his fault, he wasn't fool enough to think that—after all, he'd been asleep when the sexual encounter began, in no condition to think of birth control. But afterwards…well, he was fully responsible for what happened then. He'd let his emotions rule him and said unforgivable things, and afterwards he'd pushed everything related to the event out of his head…including possible consequences. As a scientist, he was a disgrace; he'd been acting anything but rationally for the last several months.

Forcing his eyes open against the pull of that particular memory, he worked for several moments to get his breathing and his whirling thoughts under control. He staggered over to a bench sitting conveniently against the wall and hunched over, covering his eyes with his hands. 'You're a scientist, Gil, think it through!' he told himself. 'First, eliminate other possibilities. She's obviously a patient, given what everyone's said here…could she be having someone else's baby? Nick's, perhaps?' He knew how illogical the possibility was; after all, wouldn't Nick be the one who needed to be here for the birth of his child, not Grissom? Not to mention Nick's complete unconcern over Sara giving birth here while Nick worked, and Catherine staying with Sara instead… But still, simple math would tell him if he could rule himself out as the father of Sara's baby.

But counting backward from the current date only brought his fears round full circle; if Sara had conceived his child, she'd be nearly 39 weeks pregnant, easily within the normal range for childbirth. Given that, and all of the other clues and hints he'd put together, he finally realized how screwed he was: he'd knocked up Sara Sidle, and a few minutes later called her a whore and kicked her out of his life. "Boy, Gil," he said bitterly, "when you fuck up, you fuck up big."

Suddenly it occurred to him that, while he sat here castigating himself, the love of his life was a few meters away, probably laboring to give birth to his child. He lurched to his feet, and headed down the passageway at a stumbling run.

Outside of 216, he found that his feet would carry him no farther; he was absolutely petrified. She had every right to refuse to see him, to refuse to let him be a part of the birth of his child. He leaned his forehead against the door, a cold sweat running down his hairline and sickness coiling in his stomach. He didn't know if he could bear it if she turned him away, and yet it seemed likely that she'd do just that. He stood there, locked into immobility by his own fears for long moments. Then, the decision was taken out of his hands. Hearing a voice approaching the door, he darted back, just in time to avoid having his head cracked by the swinging door.

A woman in a white lab coat stood startled in the doorway. "I'm sorry, sir, were you on your way to visit Ms. Sidle?" He didn't answer her immediately, craning his neck to see around her. The room behind her was huge, with a large hospital bed in the center of it. Had he eyes for anything but Sara, he might have seen that it was tastefully furnished, looking more like a hotel room than a hospital room; childbirth had come a long way from being treated like a pathology, and birthing 'suites' were now the norm in hospitals across the nation. But all that Grissom saw was the groaning brunette on the bed, whose sweat-soaked hair hung over her face and who was curled around an abdomen roughly the size of a beach ball. She was too caught up in her internal turmoil to see him standing cravenly in the doorway while she suffered, but someone else had noticed him.

Suddenly, he was faced with all of the self-righteous fury that was Catherine in full mommy-protective mode. "Excuse me, doctor," she said coolly, "I know him. He and I are going to talk out here for a little bit." The doctor nodded, a bit confused, and turned away to continue her rounds. Then, Catherine turned the full force of her glare on him. As he quailed under her reproachful gaze, Catherine took him ruthlessly by the arm and dragged him over to a nearby door. Upon opening it to reveal a small chapel, probably a prayer room for families of the patients, she shoved him onto a pew and then stood over him glowering.

"You know, Gil," she began, pacing to and fro down the center aisle, "I've thought of a lot of words to describe you over the years, but I never thought 'bastard' would be one of them." She paused in her angry walk to challenge him with raised eyebrows.

"Cath…I…," Gil sighed and rubbed his tired eyes with one hand. "Look, uh…suffice it to say, I had reasons for what I did that seemed good at the time, but…in retrospect, it appears that, as usual, I've made a mess of things."

"Do you love her, Gil?" Catherine's eyes flashed blue fire at him. "'Cause if you don't, I suggest you turn right back around and go back where you came from. She doesn't need you hanging around out of duty or obligation. She needs a lover, a friend and a father for her son. Can you fill those roles, Gil?"

"I have a son?" Gil whispered so softly that Catherine had to lean close to hear him.

Slightly disgruntled at the change of topic, Catherine snapped, "Yes, Gil, Sara's in there half-killing herself to bring your son into the world. Now what are you…"

"I love her, Cath," Gil interrupted quietly. "And there's nothing I'd like better in the world than to be her lover, her friend, her husband…and a father to our son." Looking up at her with tear-filled eyes, he beseeched, "Do you think she'll give me a chance to be all of those?"

His heartfelt words, paired with his obvious distress softened Catherine's harsh stance. She sighed. "I don't know, Gil. She's been pretty depressed since you sent her away. The guys and I have done all we could to keep her spirits up, but it's obvious that you hurt her a great deal." When Grissom's shoulders slumped at her severe assessment, she crouched before him and took his limp hands in her own. "Gil, whether she'll accept you right now or not, you can't give up on her. You have a family now, and responsibilities. And your first responsibility is to convince her that you two need each other. Certainly, that little baby coming into the world in the next few hours needs you both."

When he looked up at her, faint hope sparking in his damp eyes, Catherine grinned and clasped him around the shoulder. "Gil," she said with a mischievous grin, "I hear there's a crime scene out there with my name on it. So, I'm gonna blow this popsicle stand. Now get your ass in there and convince that woman to let you stay!"

Grissom smiled faintly, and fortified by her confidence, swiped a hand over his eyes and stood. At the door to the chapel, he turned to see Catherine watching him with a sentimental smile and teary eyes. When she gave him a thumbs-up, he broke into a wide grin and said, "Thanks, Cath." Then he strode out the door to find out his fate.

Sara uncurled herself from the tight ball she'd squeezed her body into when the contraction was at its height. Panting, she did her best to relax her muscles. Once she was able to think clearly again, she realized that Catherine was no longer beside her. A vague memory told her that Cath had been talking to someone at the door a few minutes ago. With a mental shrug, she decided that her friend would be back soon.

"Only two minutes between contractions, and you're dilated to nine centimeters, Ms. Sidle," the nurse said cheerily. "I bet that when the doctor checks on you next, it'll be time to push. Good news, huh?" At Sara's weary assent, the nurse turned and walked away, but paused as the outer door pushed open. The older man who stepped in appeared travel weary but hopeful, and, ignoring the nurse completely, he hastened toward the hospital bed, and the woman whose eyes were widening with shock. Generally visitors to the maternity ward were harmless, but Sara had only put one name on her list of people approved to be with her during delivery, a Catherine Willows. So the nurse paused, unsure whether to intercept the man or not.

Sara paled, staring at Gil Grissom as if seeing a ghost. When he reached, her he started to speak. "Sara…"

"Noooooooo!" she cried. Just as she turned to beg the nurse to remove him, the next contraction hit, and she hunched over in agony. But when Grissom tentatively reached out to grip her shoulder, she flinched away, sobbing, "nonononononono!"

At this, the nurse decided that, whoever this man was, he was certainly unwelcome to her patient, so she stalked forward to escort the stranger out. Seeing his chances slipping away with the approach of the pink clad woman, Gil wrapped his arms around the cringing, contracting woman he loved, and murmured, "I'm sorrysosorrysosorrysosorry. God, Sara, please, let me stay, please." As her body came down from its pain-induced rigidity, he pulled back slightly to look into her eyes.

At that moment, the nurse clamped an iron hand on his shoulder. "Sir, I'm going to have to insist that you leave. You're upsetting my patient." Even as she pulled resolutely at his shoulder, Grissom's eyes begged Sara for intervention.

Sara stared for a long moment into Gil Grissom's eyes, as the nurse's demands swiftly grew more strident. In their sapphire depths, to her wonder, she saw things she'd only dreamed of seeing: love, longing, desperation and hope. Finally, she nodded sharply. "Nurse…" she husked, "He's the baby's father. I'd like him to stay please."

The nurse, whose face had turned red with indignation, turned to Sara. "Are you sure, miss? A moment ago, you seemed to be very distraught to have him here…"

"I'm sure." Sara affirmed, her voice stronger. "I want him to stay."

When the nurse stomped huffily out of the room, Sara turned to Grissom warily. "If you stay, Griss, you can't just back out on me later. I'm not asking you to commit to me or anything, but if you want to be a part of this, right here and right now, I will ask you to commit to our baby, to being a present parent, not an absentee one…" her speech was interrupted as her abdomen hardened and she slipped into torment once again. This time, however, Gil Grissom was there, holding her hand, letting her squeeze his own until he lost all sensation in his fingertips.

"Sara," he vowed to her straining, shuddering form, "I will commit to any damn thing you ask me to, for the rest of our lives."


	15. Chapter 15

Disclaimer: I can't thing of a thing to put here.

A/N: Well, wrapping things up here, folks, though I think some of you will find things you've been looking for in the epilogue, up tomorrow!

Chapter 15

So many things to count: the number of long, dark eyelashes on the crescent shaped eyelids currently hiding two cloudy blue eyes. Ten fingers and ten toes, each with its own perfectly formed, minute nail. Two sweet pink lips, one above and one below, together forming the shape of a bow. Two miniscule ears, one button nose, and a head full of dark brown silky curls, too many to count. As Grissom cradled his newborn son in his arms, he meticulously catalogued every feature.

Sara slept the sleep of the truly deserving beside them. She'd been able to cuddle her son for only ten minutes or so after the baby was born, before demanding, through a frazzled half yawn that Grissom take him, as she was afraid she'd fall asleep and drop him. She'd slept like the dead for the last four hours, giving Grissom plenty of time to fall in love with his son.

"I wonder what your mommy wants to call you, little bug?" He whispered, so as not to disturb the sleep of mother or child. "Though I like the connotations, I can't just keep calling you little bug," he admitted, though he grinned at the thought of Sara's reaction to that particular nickname; bugs had never been her favorite things. Still, in Grissom's worldview, it was the highest compliment: an insect, to him, was the ultimate in beauty; both the beauty of function and of form.

Grissom both looked forward to and dreaded Sara's awakening. He desperately wanted to share his joy in their creation with his partner in that creation, but he knew he had a lot of groveling to do. He knew he'd been mostly in the wrong, but, when he went over the events of a year ago, he still didn't understand how Sara could have been a free woman when this little miracle had been conceived. Unfortunately, he was going to need to explain himself, and, if he'd been mistaken, that was going to be extremely embarrassing. And, even if he'd interpreted the evidence correctly, that didn't excuse his actions in Iracambi: hence the groveling. What frightened him the most was the possibility that Sara would allow him to be a part of their child's life, but not her own. He didn't even want to consider the possibility that Sara might try to keep him out of both of their lives. She wasn't capable of that kind of malice, he told himself.

It wasn't as if she'd welcomed him with open arms, after all. He was under no illusions about that. Her acceptance had more to do with the extremity of her circumstances than her forgiveness of his actions. She'd needed him, plain and simple. Someone to hold her, encourage her when it was time to push and soothe her through the worst of her contractions. He could have been almost anyone who was willing to be there for her. He'd showed up for the last two hours of what had, according to the nurse, been a 21-hour marathon labor. In a muted voice, she'd described for him what he'd missed even as she cleaned the quiescent new mother up from her ordeal.

It had all started, the nurse relayed, last night at Sara's condominium. She'd apparently been told two days before that birth was imminent, so Sara's friends were taking turns staying with her. Cath had been the lucky winner of the Sara-goes-into-labor lottery, and was also the source of the nurse's pre-hospital information. Apparently, though, Sara had not actually gone into labor—her water had broken, so Cath had rushed her to the hospital, but labor had needed to be induced at the birthing center. When Grissom failed to appreciate the significance of that fact, the nurse explained, in wonder, that induced labor skips the preliminary, 'warm-up' contractions and goes straight into hard labor. And this is what Sara had been through, drug-free for 19 hours before Gil's arrival. If it weren't for the fact that the fetal monitor showed that the baby was doing fine, the doctor would have been tempted to perform a C-section because of the length of the labor. The nurse was in awe at Sara's fortitude. Twenty plus hour labors were not uncommon, but not twenty plus hours of hard labor, done entirely without painkillers.

Grissom was not surprised, either that Sara would refuse painkillers for fear of their affect on the baby, nor that she would have the strength necessary to suffer extreme pain for hour after hour without giving up. Still, she was human. So, he knew that her tolerating his support didn't necessary mean anything for his future with her. Still, helping Sara deliver their child had been the most amazing experience of his life thus far, especially when the doctor had placed the squalling infant in his arms for the first time, right after Grissom had the cut the umbilical cord.

"I wonder what the future holds for you, little bug?" he murmured. "Will you be a physicist like your mama? Or a biologist like your daddy?"

"Maybe he won't be interested in science at all. He's his own person, you know," came a weak voice from his side, and he had to suppress a less-than-manly yelp of surprise.

Turning to meet Sara's sleep-dulled brown eyes, he summoned up a cheerful smile. "We'll love him no matter what he wants to be, even if he wants to take up _banking_

for a living," and Grissom shuddered at the idea of his child growing up to be a corporate clone. "But that won't stop me from hoping," he concluded with a chuckle.

Sara's dark eyes brightened at his use of the plural pronoun. "So, you do intend to stick around, be part of his life?" she asked, holding her breath in anticipation of his answer.

"I meant what I said before," Grissom affirmed solemnly. "I am willing to commit to anything, do anything for the two of you for the rest of my life." He swallowed, fear caught like a knot in his throat. "I hope you can forgive me for the terrible things I said to you…"

Sara regarded him for a long moment, expressionless. Then she responded, but with actions rather than words. She gestured for Grissom to pass the baby to her. His heart clenched in his chest, afraid that her request signaled rejection of his plea, but he handed the stirring baby to her without argument.

Cradling her son in her arms, Sara smiled down on him. "Hello, Isaac. I'm your mom. I've been anxious to meet you." The baby blinked at her and then yawned and stretched out his little arms and legs. After this performance, he settled and gazed into his mother's eyes.

A lump caught in Grissom's throat as he absorbed the name Sara had chosen for their son. "You named him Isaac?" He said weakly.

Sara glanced up at him, appearing slightly nervous. "Yes…well, Catherine told me that Isaac was your middle name, and I wanted him to have some connection to his father."

This gave Grissom's optimism a boost. "So…you don't hate me?"

Sara's eyes shot up to meet his in surprise, before looking away, into little Isaac's face instead of up at Grissom. "No-o…" she quavered. "I thought you hated me…and I wouldn't blame you!" she hurried to say, "What I did was unacceptable, I understand that. I want you to understand that I recognized the wrongness of my actions, and that was why I didn't tell you about the baby. I was going to tell you about Isaac within the next two years, but I wanted to prove that he and I would be fine without you, that I didn't get pregnant to trap you into a relationship. I swear to you, and you can ask Catherine if you don't trust me…"

"Sara, stop! You're over talking again." Grissom halted her nervous babble with a giddy feeling swelling within his chest. She didn't hate him! In fact, she blamed herself for what happened…and he couldn't allow that. "Sara, I've hated myself for the last nine months…30 seconds after you left, I wanted to chase after you and beg your forgiveness…I said what I said out of hurt, that you could sleep with me, and yet be seriously involved with someone else. That's no excuse, I know…"

"Grissom, what the hell?" Sara nearly shouted, and moved to straighten her spine in anger, until little Isaac forcibly reminded her of his presence with a whimper of protest. He swiftly let his opinion of Sara's agitation be known with tearful wails, and Sara and Grissom both looked at him helplessly, unsure what to do. Finally, Sara cradled him against her chest, thinking that hearing her heartbeat might soothe him. Instead of settling into complacency, the baby grew more excited, pursing and relaxing his little mouth in a suckling motion.

"Sara…" Grissom whispered, awed once again, in spite of his own confusion at Sara's outburst. "I think…I think he's hungry?"

Her heated glare let him know that he was not off the hook for whatever he'd said wrong, but then she bit her lip, nervously. "I've…uh, I've read how to do this, but I'm not sure…" She looked at him in entreaty.

"I'll get the nurse, OK, honey? I'll be right back." And he dashed out the door, guiltily relieved by the hiatus from their emotionally draining conversation.

Several long, and, for Sara at least, frustrating minutes later, little Isaac had successfully latched on to Sara's breast and was nursing greedily. For a long time, both new parents simply watched, dumbstruck.

Grissom finally broke the silence: "I have never been more enamored of the quirks of mammalian biology than I am at this moment," he averred solemnly.

Sara finally lifted her eyes from their son, only to lay her head back, eyes closed and a peculiarly blissful little grin on her face. "Nothing feels like this…Nothing!" she smiled dreamily. Then, the muscles around her mouth and eyes tightened, and Grissom knew his reprieve was over.

Careful to avoid tensing her arms or body so that her son's feeding wouldn't be disrupted, she asked, in a very quiet voice, "What did you mean, 'seriously involved with someone else'?"

Grissom had feared that this was the source of her previous outburst…there could be no good outcomes from this; either he'd been mistaken and hurt her for no good reason whatsoever, or he was about to find out that Sara did in fact love someone else.

"Sara…I…I saw some things, a year ago, that led me to believe that you were in a serious relationship with someone else. When I said to you that you were the reason I left CSI, that was true, but it was nothing you did. I…I left because I realized that I couldn't continue seeing you and working with you every day when you belonged with another man." Grissom was sure that the heat he felt under his skin indicated that he was blushing a fiery red, but he couldn't look away from her.

Sara's face was patently disbelieving. "How could you have possibly thought such a thing? I haven't even dated in two years!"

Grissom wasn't sure he could contain all the emotions that roiled within him at this confession. Joy and relief were strong in the mix, as was guilt for his irrational behavior. But disbelief was there too; he'd thought his actions were based on compelling evidence. He hated mistrusting Sara; he needed to quiet his fears by finding out how he'd misinterpreted the evidence. So, in bumbling, ineloquent sentences, he told her what he'd seen.

Sara was quiet for a long time after his confession, and though he saw many emotions flickering across her face, they were gone too swiftly for him to identify them. She sat there, unspeaking, for so long that Isaac finished nursing from one breast and began grumbling discontentedly. Sara absently switched him to the other breast, without ever taking her eyes from Grissom's face.

Finally, when he thought the tension would kill him, he got a reaction…but not the one he expected. Sara began to laugh. As he watched in bewilderment, she laughed long and hard, though careful not to jiggle the nursing baby too much with her convulsions. After a few minutes, her laughs turned into sobs, and he couldn't stay away anymore. He gingerly slid onto the hospital bed beside her and took both mother and baby into his arms. The baby, finally satiated, merely made a small grumbling noise before falling asleep with his cheek pressed to Sara's nipple. And Sara cried, for a very long time, until nothing remained of her laughter or her tears but a bout of hiccups. Then, Grissom gently eased Isaac away from his mother, and returned him to the bassinet. He made sure the infant was still swaddled tightly, and then kissed his son softly on the cheek.

Returning to spoon a recovering Sara in his arms, he asked her quietly, "Are you OK, honey?"

Sara nodded uncertainly. "It's just…" she said, "all of the suffering I've done, and you've done for the last year, was so completely unnecessary…and when I think about how what you saw was completely innocent, yet totally misleading…I can't blame you. The situation is quite the comedy of errors really," and then she explained about Nick's melodramatic request for her to pose as his girlfriend to avert a matchmaking aunt, and about her own purchase of an engagement ring to comfort herself in her melancholy at being alone.

"No one ever saw that ring on my finger, Griss, or so I thought," she finished sadly. "It was just a ridiculous impulse, and it cost us both so much. I really hate myself for that."

Overwhelmed by what he'd just learned, Grissom buried his face in her neck. She could feel the heat of a tear or two trickling down her shoulder blade. Finally he spoke, his voice muffled and his lips tickling her skin. "We've both been stupid," he groaned. He lifted his head so that he could be heard more clearly, "I keep kicking myself over this: why didn't I just ask you about what I saw? But, god, please don't hate yourself…I love you too much to watch you suffer anymore over what's past."

At that, Sara turned, wincing, in his arms, reached up and caught his face between her two hands. "Do you mean that?" she demanded urgently. Caught by surprise, he stuttered at first, "I.I…Y-yes…I love you, Sara. I think I always have. I want to make a life with you and with Isaac, if you can forgive my stupidity…" and he cast down his eyes, frightened of her response.

"Gil…" His head shot up, electric fire in his blue eyes at her use of his first name. "I think," she continued, while noting his reaction for future use, "that I've never heard a better offer," and she pulled his face to hers. Their first kiss in nine months was both a promise, and a benediction.


	16. Chapter 16

Disclaimer: they have a lot more fun in this chapter than TPTB would allow them to have.

A/N: Well, that's all she wrote, folks. I have to thank my friend Heart'sandEye'sDelight for persuading me to post it, because I have to admit that this has been a great deal of fun. Thank you all for your incredibly kind comments, and I hope this lives up to all of your expectations!

A/N 2: BTW, this chapter is HUGE, folks. That's because, when I reached the end of the story, I asked my friend what she'd like to see in the epilogue, and she gave me three requests. It took 13 pages, but I fit them all in. See if you can guess what they were, lol! (I'll put the answer at the end).

Epilogue

Gil Grissom wondered how long it was customary to wait for sex after the birth of a child. It had been two months since Isaac's birth, two months of a steep learning curve for two people who'd never thought they'd be parents. Two months of late night crying jags and constant sleep interruptions. Two months of aching breasts for Sara and diapers worse than any decomp for Grissom (he'd agreed that, since she was breastfeeding, that diaper duty should be his job. He'd had many occasions since to regret that offer.) Two months of spooning with Sara at night, constant affectionate touching and gentle, passionless kisses. Two months of platonically sharing a home and a bed with a woman who stimulated his senses in every possible way. Gil Grissom was really, really tired of celibacy.

Sara had gone back to work two weeks ago, with her doctor's OK, so shouldn't physical intimacy be possible? He'd read that the three months after childbirth was like a fourth trimester, where the woman's uterus and other parts of her body were slowly healing and returning to normal, so would he have to wait another month? He really ought to look these things up, Grissom mused. Sara had been sweet, and loving to him and to their son (when she wasn't frazzled from a constant lack of sleep; Sara Sidle, the insomniac, fell asleep when her head hit the pillow, these days), but she never initiated intimacy. He worried that, if she was healed enough to have sex, perhaps she no longer desired him. If she ever had, actually. His only proof of that was that she had slipped into bed with him while he was having an erotic dream and had allowed him to make love to her. Perhaps, even then, it had been pity sex; he winced at the thought.

A demanding wail cut through his unpleasant thoughts, and he smiled wistfully. At least the task of fatherhood was coming to him fairly easily these days. Since Sara had returned to the lab, he'd been in sole charge of their little bug (Sara still grimaced at the nickname, but it seemed to suit the baby, so she didn't try to break him of using it). He rose from his seat on the couch where he'd been attempting to read Sara's latest issue of Forensics Monthly (and instead ended up contemplating his own personal sexual frustration), and moved into the nursery to check on Isaac.

One truly foul diaper change later, Grissom propped his small son on his shoulder and strolled out to the kitchen to warm a bottle for the infant. Sara, as perfectionist as a mother as she was as a CSI, insisted on still providing all of Isaac's nourishment. She carried an ice chest and a manual breast pump with her every time she worked, and pumped breast milk to store for Isaac every time she took a break. So their refrigerator and freezer both sported neat rows of zipper bagged breast milk for Gil to feed his son. He put a pot of water on to heat and then submerged one zipper bag in the water to warm the milk inside. After a few minutes, he poured the tepid white fluid into a curve-necked bottle and settled into the rocking chair in the nursery to feed his son.

He'd heard about all that Catherine and the boys had done for Sara, this very rocking chair being a case-in-point. They'd come to visit the baby a few times, and, to their credit, they hadn't given Grissom any grief over his absence during Sara's pregnancy. Instead, they seemed happy to see him, and greatly enjoyed teasing him on his new life role. Looking down at his greedily slurping son, he resolved to do something for his friends to thank them for taking care of Sara when he hadn't been there to do it.

Looking at Isaac was one of his favorite pastimes. He constantly searched the child's unformed baby features for resemblances to himself or Sara. The darkish brown hair was definitely Sara's; before Grissom's hair had been grey, it had been an indeterminate shade of mousy brown, and, as a child, he'd been tow-headed. The curls could have come from either parent; both Sara and Grissom had naturally curly hair. The eyes, still blue eight weeks after birth, were, in his opinion, sharpening from their bleary newborn color to his own sapphire blue, but that wasn't certain; baby eye color could change up until six months of age. Most other features were still so soft and baby-round that it was impossible to decipher from whom they'd come, but Isaac did sport a definite little dimple in his chin, courtesy of his father. Perhaps he was biased, but he couldn't help but think his little boy was the most beautiful child he'd ever seen.

Isaac's sucks had been steadily diminishing in power as Grissom observed him, and finally he let his lips slacken so that the silicon nipple slid out from between his jaws. The action automatic after all these weeks, Grissom slung a white dishtowel over his shoulder and lifted the baby to it, giving him several steady smacks on the back. When a burp loud enough to have come from a baby hippo emitted from his small self, Grissom laughed, and lowered the baby to lie on his lap.

"Who's the cute little bug?" he cooed to the child. Isaac watched him, spellbound; over the past weeks, this had become a favorite game of theirs. "What does little bug do?" Grissom asked, sotto voce. "Does he fly like a moth?" and he manipulated the baby's pudgy arms in a flapping motion. "Does he crawl like a beetle?" he asked, even as he bicycled Isaac's little legs. "Does he sting like a bee?" Grissom grinned as he patted the baby's rump softly. Ending with, as he always did, "Does he jump like a cricket?" Grissom bounced the baby gently by lifting his own knees up and down. Isaac burbled in delight at this and then, to Grissom's astonished joy, he raised the ends of his lips in a first gummy smile at his father.

For a long time, Gil Grissom could do nothing but smile foolishly at his son while the baby smiled toothlessly back at him, but then he couldn't contain his excitement any more. Sweeping the baby up into his arms, he stood and carefully danced him around the living room, grinning all the while. Then, a thought occurring to him suddenly, he stopped. His next impulse had been to call Sara, but Sara was already conflicted about her role as a mother and as a CSI; she didn't need to know she'd missed one of Isaac's firsts. Tapping his lips solemnly with his index finger, he told Isaac, "We'll just keep this our secret, OK buddy? When you smile at mommy, we'll call that your first smile." Isaac just gazed at him, now equally solemn and Gil sighed and smiled. "Let's give you some rug time, huh pal?" he murmured.

With one hand, he smoothed out the play rug Cath had bought for Isaac and untangled the dangling toys meant for the baby to watch, and later, as his coordination improved, to bat at. Catherine and the guys seemed to delight in finding bug themed merchandise for Isaac. This particular play rug had a dangling ladybug mirror, a dragonfly squeaky toy, a butterfly with a spinning rainbow center and a stretchy cricket. Gil grinned, remembering his own reaction upon seeing the bug themed nursery. At Sara's exasperated complaint, "The guys did it!" he had laughed loudly and heartily. The fact that all his friends had figured out his role in Sara's pregnancy despite her silence on the issue made him want to grin stupidly in macho pride.

He settled Isaac under the dangling toys, where the baby was immediately transfixed by them, and slowly lowered his own slightly creaky bones onto the floor beside him. As he watched his son flail at the toys, and occasionally dragged one within reach of tiny grasping hands, he sunk back into his dour reflections. The problem was not just sex, he knew; many issues in his life with Sara remained unresolved. He lived in Sara's condo, having no home of his own. He had made one hasty trip to the mall to pick up clothing and necessities, having packed only a carryon bag when he left Iracambi, and he'd been living out of one drawer in Sara's dresser ever since. Though he was more than willing to pay half, or more of the expenses, Sara had avoided talking about such things…or perhaps they'd both been to tired to try to figure out what role he was to play, other than daddy and daycare provider.

He knew what role he wanted to play…the problem was that he didn't know what Sara wanted. He had more than enough money, both from the sale of his townhouse, and from prudent investments over the last thirty years, to support his family in complete comfort at least until Isaac turned 18. He'd tried to subtly let Sara know that he didn't mind if she wanted to stay home, but Sara had brushed aside his attempts and gone back to CSI on schedule.

Even if Sara truly wanted to work, Grissom did not want to put Isaac in daycare; he'd processed one too many cases of child abuse by childcare providers over the years to be sanguine about Isaac under anyone's care but his or Sara's. So, for now, he was OK with being a stay at home dad, though later, when Isaac's routine had become more predictable and Grissom's sleep less interrupted, he had some offers to write textbook chapters that he intended to look into. So, financially and career-wise, his life was just fine right now.

It was his personal life that was in limbo; he lived with a woman he loved, cared for a son he adored, but what he was other than the repugnantly termed 'baby-daddy' of Jerry Springer fame, he didn't know. These days he desperately wanted a role that he'd always strictly avoided before: that of husband, father and provider. Watching Isaac burble excitedly to himself at the spinning and flashing of the toys above him, he admitted that what he wanted most in the world right now was to be married to Sara.

The problem was, he knew Sara…her life experiences had, understandably, jaundiced her toward the institution of marriage. Watching her parents' marriage spiral into discord and violence made her wary of tying herself to any man, she'd admitted as much to him one day, as he comforted her after a crying jag in her apartment. He'd held her hand while she sobbed out the story of her childhood, and afterwards, she'd told him that she feared relationships, feared that she was too much like her mother, too likely to become dependent on a man for all of her emotional needs. At the time, he'd been acutely uncomfortable, for he couldn't help but notice that she carefully avoided looking at him when she talked about not wanting to need a man. After those revelations, he'd been terrified that she was trying to gently tell him she wasn't interested in him anymore, just as he'd finally started to admit to himself that he wanted what she'd offered him years before.

Now, he knew she wanted him to be part of her life, to make a family with her and their son, but he didn't know if her opinions on marriage had changed. He sighed in discontent, but then couldn't help but smile. At least baby Isaac somehow was always able to lift his spirits. At this moment, Isaac's spastic motions had ceased, and he was blinking vaguely at the toys above him. His bow-shaped lips parted in a tremendous yawn, and Grissom chuckled. "Time for nap, hey little bug?" he said quietly. Scooping the boy up in his arms, he strode into the nursery and settled the baby into his bassinet. Isaac gazed at him blearily through half-open eyes for a few seconds before giving in to the inevitable and drifting off.

Having learned quickly that sleep was hard to come by in a home with a newborn, Grissom headed back into the room he shared with Sara to stretch out under the covers and try to catch a few winks. Unfortunately, his troubled mind would not shut down. His thoughts kept repeating themselves, whirling around in his head and preventing rest. Finally, he sat up and rested his throbbing head in his hands, tormented by uncertainty. Lifting his eyes to gaze about the room, he suddenly noticed the cherry-wood jewelry box on Sara's dresser and remembered something. With renewed energy, he practically leapt out of bed and hurried over to it, crossing his fingers that what he was looking for still resided therein. He opened the lid, and there it was, enclosed in a black velvet jewelry box where it had rested, unworn for nearly a year now: Sara's mock engagement ring—that expensive, gorgeous entity of metal and gemstones that had cost them both so much.

Grissom smiled; this was the answer to his doubts. Sara had bought this ring in a bout of loneliness, needing to feel like she belonged with someone. She'd admitted as much to him in the birthing room two months ago as she nursed their child for the first time. Closing his eyes and grinning helplessly, he hugged the tiny box to his chest, grateful for the answers it held. Then, he opened his eyes, slid the ring out of the box and into his pocket, and returned the velvet box to its former place, to allay suspicion. Grinning like a cat with a yellow feathers dangling from its lips, he began to plan.

As Sara sipped her sparkling white grape juice, she was still ambivalent about Grissom's venture tonight. It was her weekend off from work and when she'd woken up this afternoon to feed and cuddle with Isaac, he'd told her that he wanted to take her on a date. A date? They lived together and had a child, for Christ's sake. He didn't need to wine and dine her; she was a sure thing. Still, he'd seemed so excited about this, overriding her fears of leaving Isaac with a sitter by telling her that Lindsey was thrilled to watch the baby, and that Catherine would be home to supervise the teenager. Sara rolled her eyes as she recalled that he'd even specified the dress he wanted her to wear…a sundress of white eyelet lace that she'd had in her closet since college.

Still, she had to admit that Grissom's idea of a romantic date suited her very well. They'd driven for half an hour outside the city to Red Rock Canyon, and he'd led her up here to a table shaped rock overlooking the beauty of the national conservation area. Then he'd laid a blanket over the sun-warmed surface of the rock, and produced an excellent picnic. They'd conversed for the last hour over rich cheeses sandwiched in sourdough bread and elegant crackers, whole grapes and strawberries, and the faux-wine she was currently imbibing.

When he brought out the selection of chocolate truffles, with a flourish, she'd had enough. "Who are you?" she asked in amusement.

"Me?" he wondered, perplexed by her query.

"Yes, you, Gilbert Grissom, who I would have sworn hadn't a romantic bone in his body!" she grinned, and opened her mouth to accept a chocolate coated raspberry confection he held teasingly in front of her lips.

"I guess I hadn't found someone who inspired the romantic in me," he whispered, all the while boring into her with his electric gaze.

Slightly embarrassed by the attention, Sara looked down at her hands while she focused on chewing and swallowing her chocolate treat. "You didn't always think so fondly of me," she whispered.

"Sara…" Grissom said, lowering his tone to match hers, "I've been a fool in many, many ways since I met you, but I never want you to doubt that I've always loved you. At first I didn't feel like I had the right to say it, and later, I didn't know how to begin, but I've loved you for a very long time, sweet Sara."

Sara looked up sharply at this, staring searchingly into his eyes. Their blue depths assured her how fervently he meant his spoken sentiments, and tears smarted at the corners of her own eyes. Launching herself into his arms and accidentally knocking the remaining candies off the rock, to roll away and provide a treat for the wildlife, she laughed tearfully at herself. "Somehow, Griss, I've never truly believed that you could love me, that I was worthy of that."

"If I know what love is, it is because of you," he quoted softly. Rising to sit on his knees before her, he took both of her hands in his own, and drew her up to face him, so that their knees touched. "Sara…my life since I returned to Las Vegas has been everything I never dared dream of, but…something is missing." At her worried look, he brought one of her hands to his lips in reassurance. "Honey, I could be happy forever just to share a life with you and Isaac, but there is one thing that would make me even happier…"

"And that is?" she prompted, when he seemed to wait for her reaction.

Taking the hand that was enfolded in his own right hand, he transferred it to his left hand so that he cradled both her hands in his one. Then, reaching into his pocket, he brought out a sparkling and familiar object. "Remember this?" he whispered. At her riveted nod, he reached into his pocket once more, this time producing a second ring. Folding her palms open, he set both rings into her hand so that it was apparent that the second ring had been designed as a wedding band, to interlock with the engagement ring Sara had bought herself so long ago.

"Sara, what I want, more than anything in this world, is to be married to you." Covering the trembling hand that held two rings with his own quivering palm, he clasped their hands together against his lips in a solemn kiss, never taking his eyes from hers. "Please, Sara…will you marry me?" he entreated.

Sara paused there, a thousand emotions flooding through her, fear, skepticism, worry, joy, and excitement, to name a few. She stared, mesmerized at the sinuous swirl of the two rings, obviously as made for each other as she'd always thought she and Gil were. The obvious question, did he mean it or was this just what he felt was the 'right' thing to do, was brushed away by the soft effulgence of love in his eyes. The second worry, that she herself was incapable of making a happy marriage, having had such a poor example in her own parents, was more difficult for her to dismiss. As she gnawed at her lips and watched the play of light over the gold and diamond fantasy in her hand, she argued with herself. Finally, she lifted her face, and though he searched it for her answer, she kept it carefully blank.

"Gil," she said, and he shook at hearing his given name in her melodious voice, "I…I don't know if this will work, if what we have will last…I have seen very little evidence in my life of the so-called 'sanctity' of marriage…but," and she rushed on, wanting to erase the clouded hurt she could see building in his eyes, "I love you, Gil, and I trust you, and there is no one else on earth I could see myself married to…somehow, when I've visualized a future, you've always been in it. I don't need a wedding in order to love you for the rest of our lives, but I want more than anything to make you happy. So…this is a really long-winded way to say it, but if the vows and trappings of married life is what will make you happy, then…my answer is yes."

The words had scarcely left her lips when she found herself crushed in his embrace, the rings clasped securely in her two hands still pressed between them. Then, he drew back and, gently recovering both rings, he pocketed the wedding band once more and carefully slid the engagement band onto her naked finger. Then his lips were on hers, and this, this was no gentle, platonic kiss; this was a raging inferno of love and lust. He devoured her lips with his, and clasped her to him, as if their two bodies could merge just as their souls already had. Then, just as suddenly as he'd begun it, he ended the kiss and leaped to his feet. Gathering the remnants of their picnic with extreme haste, he grabbed her hand and dragged her down the path to her Prius with the exuberant energy of a man half his age.

Staring at the ceiling three hours later, Sara marveled at how her life had changed so quickly. Here she was, luxuriously enveloped in 1200 thread count sheets in a high roller suite at the Wynn casino, while her husband of two hours slept the sleep of the physically exhausted beside her. She still couldn't figure out how he'd accomplished everything so quickly.

From the moment he'd slid behind the wheel of her Prius, he'd been a man on a mission. Weaving through traffic at speeds perilously above the speed limit, he'd gotten them back to Vegas in twenty minutes instead of thirty. From there, he'd gone straight to the Clark County Justice of the Peace office, having intuited that Sara would be uncomfortable with a religious ceremony. Sara was somehow not surprised to find that he'd made them an appointment and completed most of the necessary paperwork in advance. The ceremony had been simple and traditional, and at the end of it, Sara found herself with a doubled band on her left ring finger, and a new name.

She grinned as she stretched languorously. No, she hadn't really been surprised…at that point.

What had surprised her to the point that she feared her eyebrows had found a permanent new position at her hairline was how completely he'd planned everything. The extravagant suite he took her to with card key already in hand was the first in a long string of revelations the evening had in store for her.

When he'd paused at the threshold, she looked at him enquiringly, expecting him to say something pithy about beginning their new lives or something. Instead, he bent down and swept her up in his arms. He grinned at her surprised gasp as he stepped into their suite and moved easily through to the master bedroom, and grinned even more widely when her eyes went round at the scene before her. Not only did flowers and flickering candles decorate every available surface, but also a bottle stood chilling in a silver bucket beside the bed, and a white silken negligee draped across the turned down surface of the plush comforter atop the enormous bed.

Grissom returned her to her feet by the simple expedient of letting her slide down his firm body. His grin turned feral when she gasped at the feel of his rock hard erection jutting into her belly. "Shall I let you…freshen up?" he spoke huskily against the side of her neck. She looked up at him, and her nerves must have shown in her eyes because his expression grew gentle after a moment. "Sara…if this is too soon, just tell me…I want to show you how much I love you tonight, but the last thing I want to do is hurt you…"

Sara ducked her head, shaking it softly. "It's not that," she whispered. "It's just that…well, my body doesn't really look the same anymore…I have stretch marks, and my stomach isn't flat anymore..."

"All of which you earned bearing our child, so I will love every new mark or shape to your body, sweetheart," he crooned as his searing hands ran gently over the outsides of her arms. "Is that all, my love?"

She swallowed, hard. This next misgiving would be difficult for him to hear. "I…it's just that…the one time we've been physically…intimate, things didn't… end well, for me," she confessed. "My head knows that you'd never reject me again, but my heart isn't listening, you know?"

A moment later, she wished she could unsay that last; the distressed look that crossed his face tore at her heart. He swallowed as he realized why their every interaction had been nonsexual over the last several weeks. "Sara, I…I've made a lot of mistakes in my life," he shook his head ruefully, "but none of them haunt me like the way I treated you a year ago. ...!" and he punctuated each word with a gentle shake of her shoulders. "Now, my dearest love…will you let me make love to you?"

Overwhelmed to the point of tears for what must have been the tenth time that night, she nodded silently, and she gathered up the nightgown and moved to the attached restroom.

The wonders of that bath suite would definitely have to be explored later, she told herself, as she emerged a few minutes later, freshly showered and silk-clad. She entered the room to a sight she hoped to see every day for the rest of her life; a bare-chested Grissom lounging indolently atop the coverlet of the massive bed. At the sight of her slim length skimmed by white satin, he growled, and sat up attentively. "You look amazing, Mrs. Grissom," he sighed. Then he gestured for her to come to him, and when she acquiesced, he wrapped her in his arms and laid her down gently beneath him on the bed.

He laid down beside her and just devoured her with his eyes for a few moments. Stroking down her sleek side with one hand, he whispered tremulously, "Is this real?"

Finding assurance in his own insecurity, Sara reached over to cup his jaw in her hand. "Oh, it's real babe. I love you, and I want you to make love to me tonight."

Electrified by her response, Grissom shifted over her once more and caught her lips between his own. Even as she tried to open her mouth and invite him in, he refused to reciprocate, teasing her lips with sensual licks and sucks without actually fully engaging in the kiss. She moaned in protest as his talented lips and tongue explored the texture of her lips and the skin around it. Finally, he allowed his lips to meet hers as equals, and when her tongue probed at the seam of his lips, he opened them willingly and his own tongue emerged to duel with hers. They kissed for what seemed like hours, as neither of them was willing to give up the incredible sensations.

At last, yet still too soon, his mouth parted from hers, and he kissed her cheeks, her forehead and her eyelids. Then, as she slid her hands through his curls and tugged softly, trying to bring those magical lips back up to hers, he surprised her once again. Grasping her shoulders, he abruptly rolled them both so that she lay atop him, looking down upon him. When she quirked an eyebrow in question, he smiled. "Honey, it's been a while, for both of us, but your body has been through a year of change and trauma. I want you to control the pace here, for both of us, so I can be sure I'm not hurting you."

Smiling at his consideration, she pulled her knees up to rest on each side of his hips and used them to push herself up to a seated position. He groaned as her change in position put new pressure on his already fully erect penis, and the shifting of her nightgown away from her thighs let him feel naked wet skin and hair instead of the cloth of panties. She grinned suddenly, feeling the shift in power as he reacted to her lack of underclothing. Pressing her hands firmly against his pectoral muscles, she began to explore his torso using her lips and tongue. She paused to pay special attention to his puckered brown nipples, laving each one generously with her tongue before slurping the beaded tip into her mouth and sucking hard. His sharply indrawn breath and the slight bucking of his hips were ample reward for her efforts.

Even as she slid down his legs, she dragged her tongue with tortuous deliberation along each gentle rise of his rib cage. He clutched at her arms in helpless need, even as she circled his navel with her tongue and then licked a trail from his belly to the button of his pants. Sitting up on her haunches, she smirked at his taut face, already lined with dots of perspiration. Grasping the button holding his pants closed between two fingers, she teased him by slipping the button free from its binding, but holding his pants closed. "You want something, babe?" she purred.

"God, yes," he groaned, and punished her for her impudence by grabbing and squeezing her silk-covered ass in his meaty hands. Leaning forward to tease his lips with her own again, she cleverly eased his zipper down and slid her hand inside his boxers while his brain was occupied with what her lips were doing to his. When she wrapped one cool hand around his erection, he nearly jumped out of his skin. "Ooooooh…" he moaned, throwing his head back and slamming his eyes shut in order to concentrate on what her fingers were doing to him.

At first, she contented herself with trailing her fingertips up and down his shaft, tracing the lines and ridges of his cock and brushing her thumb back and forth over its purpling head. Fascinated at the way his cock jumped with every pass of her fingers, she moved to lay on her side next to his hip, so she could observe its snakelike bobbing. Even as she watched, pearly fluid welled up within the slit on the head. Irresistibly drawn to sample his flavor, she touched her tongue to the tip of his cock and lapped at it.

"Oh, shit, Sara!" he cried, and reached down to attempt to pull her back up his body, but she shook her head, and, pursing her lips, kissed the head of his penis. From a closed mouth kiss, she slowly and teasingly parted her lips, widening them in a lewd simulation of the French kisses they'd shared earlier. She let his cockhead slip just inside her mouth, and she tangled her tongue with his cock, treating it as the mating tongue in this faux-kiss. His fingers, which had tangled with her hair with the intent of gently tugging her up his body seemed to lose their volition, simply drifting through her hair as she tugged and sucked and licked at his erection.

Finally, feeling the surge of orgasm starting to gather strength in his testicles, he tightened his fingers in her hair and tugged as urgently as he could without hurting her. At first, she shook her head and him and sucked him still deeper into her scorching wet mouth, but finally his babbled entreaties got through to her, and she dragged her mouth up his cock one last time, finally releasing him with a loud pop. Looking down at her, brown curls tangling wild around her head, eyes smoky with lust and lips swollen from sucking his cock, he groaned desperately; she looked like a goddess of sex.

"C'mere," he husked, and when she slithered up his body to lay prone upon him, his swollen appendage pressing into the wiry curls of her pubic hair, he reached up and dragged her face down to join her mouth with his. "Damn, you're incredible," he muttered into her mouth, as he reached down to test her readiness for him. Finding her pussy dripping in anticipation, he groaned again. He shifted her hips just an inch or so, brushing the silk of her negligee out of the way, and suddenly the tip of his cock was pushing gently against her entrance. When she gasped at the feel of him, he whispered, "Shhh, baby, it's OK…one inch at a time, alright? You let me know…" and he eased gently into her, just a tiny bit.

Her mouth parted and her eyes slammed shut at the feel of him within her, stretching her walls. She was very slightly sore, more from her nun-like lifestyle in the last year than from any residual pain from childbirth, so she tensed up slightly at his intrusion. When at last her shoulders loosened and drooped, he wrapped warm fingers around her hips and slid her down his cock, just a little bit more. This time, there was no pain; only stretching and fullness. The thickness of him was greater than she'd ever experienced in her (admittedly limited) sexual history, and she was so sensitive, she could have sworn she could feel every ridge and vein of him pulsating within her.

He paused in his slow entry into her body, transfixed by the way she looked. She resembled nothing so much as a woman in the throes of religious ecstasy; her eyes were lifted heavenwards, her lips were parted in awe, and her torso was sharply arched. The latter pose caused her pert breasts, still outlined under the silk of her negligee, to jut out. Distracted from his primary goal, he ran his hands up over the silk and cupped both of her breasts in his hands, brushing his thumbs across their stiffened peaks. She moaned at the sensation that swelled out from her chest to her groin, and her breasts thrust forward, egging him on.

Tiring at last of the slickness of silk when he wanted the velvet of skin, he raised his hands and slid the spaghetti straps of the negligee down her arms, until only the proud upward thrust of her breasts kept the gown from falling down around her hips. He watched and waited, as slowly, bit by bit, the piece of cloth lost the battle and slid down to pool around her. When she was finally fully revealed to him, he sighed in appreciation; though he'd seen her breasts frequently in the past few weeks as Isaac suckled at them, he'd seldom seen them arrogantly exposed like this, for his pleasure alone. He slid his hands around to the small of her back and pulled her down until he could run his tongue around each swollen mass in turn.

"It feels different…" she groaned, as he gently bit at the tip of one nipple. Watching his eyebrows lift enquiringly above where his mouth tugged at her breast was slightly comical and she giggled, though with a hitch in her breathing when, almost accidentally, his penis slid a little deeper into her. "When Isaac does that and when you do…it feels different," she breathed. Understanding, he nodded, and then released her nipple with a

soft pop and ran his hands back down to where his cock was slowly parting her flesh. He delved into her folds to find the tiny piece of erectile tissue and brushed against it and she cried out, involuntarily spreading her legs and allowing him greater penetration. She grunted as she felt him press against her cervix and realized that he was fully seated within her.

For several moments they stared at each other in awe at their joining, but at last, her mating instinct overrode her desire to watch him, and she flexed the muscles in her thighs, lifting her lower body up until only the tip if him stayed within her. Then, she slid back down with a sigh of relief at regaining that sense of completion. She continued in that vein for several minutes, riding his cock at a slow and sensuous pace. Their moans

and sighs of pleasure mingled in the air, as he ran his hands over her body from breast to hip, constantly stimulating and arousing her still further.

This erotic dance was slowly driving Grissom mad with frustration, however. As he pushed up into her again and again, he received just enough stimulation to keep him on the edge, but never enough to push him over. Therefore, he ran his fingers through her folds as she continued to slide up and down his shaft, and began flicking her clitoris in a steady rhythm. Immediately, she arched hard, stilling in her steady movement and grinding herself hard upon the base of his cock. Guttural cries burst out of her throat as she was reduced to rocking herself desperately against his clever fingers. At last, her orgasm expanded from her loins and throughout her body in hot waves like boiling honey. With one last sharp cry, she collapsed over his chest, quivering.

Panting, he took a few moments to recover from the feeling of her slick hot walls strangling his penis during her convulsions. Before long, though, the impatient twitching of that organ still imbedded deep within her demanded his attention. Gently cradling her to his chest, he deftly used one arm and one knee to roll her, slipping out of her body in the process. When Sara, still lost in her orgasmic haze groaned in disappointment at the loss of contact, he soothed her with his lips upon hers. Then, rearing back, he maneuvered himself so that, once again, he was pressed up against her opening. He looked into her eyes, seeking permission, and when she nodded and smiled, he closed his eyes and hitched his hips forward.

It only took him a very few surges and retreats to penetrate her completely. Finally, he

paused, the effort it took to hold still very apparent on his face. Sweat dripped off of his forehead to trickle down her hairline and he trembled with the strain of holding back. Sara smiled up at him tenderly and brushed the beads of water away from his brow with one hand. "It's Ok," she whispered, "I'm fine…you've made love to me more thoroughly than anyone has ever done and now I want you to take what you need." When he merely stared at her, uncomprehending, she sighed and pulled his head down so that she could whisper directly into his ear, "I want you to fuck me now, fuck me like you need to."

Stunned at her demand, he eased back for a moment, slipping partly out of her as he did so, to search her eyes for confirmation. Seeing only love brimming in her chocolate depths, his head dropped in relief and, grinning wildly, he plowed forward, slamming into her with terrific force, before withdrawing to repeat the action over and over.

Sara gasped at first at his violence, but soon was carried away with the sensations this new position was evoking in her. His heft stretched her to her limits and the hilt of his penis brushed her clit with every thrust. Suddenly, she couldn't have him deep enough and she hitched her hips upward and wrapped her legs around his hips. He in turn straightened his spine and used his hands on her hips to push himself even deeper into her than before. In short order, she came two more times, her sobbing cries only urging him

on until finally she felt him swell up even more, impossibly huge inside her and with one last juddering thrust, she felt the hot gush of his seed as he shouted his completion.

Only now, over an hour later could she look back on the aftermath of their first lovemaking as a married couple with equanimity. As he'd slumped over on his side, dragging her with him with one hand on her hip so as to keep them joined, she'd come to

a realization that should have, perhaps, occurred a few minutes sooner. At her mumbled "shit!" he stirred, and blinked blearily at her. "Gil!" she whispered urgently, and as his gaze sharpened and focused, and his spent dick twitched, she continued, "We forgot something important!"

"What?" he murmured, reaching up to thread his thick fingers through her curls.

"Gil!" she cried, pettishly swatting at his hand, "This is serious." She rolled her eyes when his cock throbbed again and hardened slightly at her second use of his name. He moaned softly, but when she poked his ribs finally sobered a little and said, "What seems to be the problem, Mrs. Grissom?"

"The problem MR. GRISSOM, is that we did it again!" she cried, exasperated at his lightheartedness. Grissom however, could not seem to find it in himself to be concerned when he'd just had one of the most powerful orgasms of his life and his limbs were weighted down by sweet lassitude.

Yawning, he asked sweetly, "What did we do, honey?"

Sara planted her hands on each side of his neck and shook him slightly. "We forgot birth control again!"

He stilled at her anguished tone, and, looking deeply into her eyes, asked, "Honey…is that a problem?"

At her obvious astonishment, he sighed and smiled. "Sara, my sweet, I'm not making light of the subject. But, the truth is, I've loved being Isaac's dad for the last eight weeks, and the thought of having more children with you is…extremely appealing. If this is too soon for you, or if you don't want more children, we'll take precautions in future. But, I repeat, is this really a problem?" and he smiled at her with such sweetness she felt her heart melt within her chest and she sighed and rested her head against his shoulder.

"I guess not," she sighed, and they soon drifted off to sleep, still joined in body and soul.

Now, as Sara watched her slumbering husband, she smiled to herself. Was it crazy of her, she wondered, to hope that he had indeed impregnated her during that marathon bout of lovemaking? She hugged a pillow to herself and smiled dreamily. "I wonder what he'd think of Amanda for a girl?" she whispered, before drifting off to sleep once again.

~_finis_~

A/N final: my friend's three requests were: more smut, more Isaac, and a proposal. Did you get it right?

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